


Penance

by tricksy_dancer_hobbit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drama & Romance, Eating Disorder, Eating Disorders, F/F, Family Drama, Feels, Fictional Religion & Theology, Mages and Templars, Original Character(s), Sarcastic Hawke, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksy_dancer_hobbit/pseuds/tricksy_dancer_hobbit
Summary: Genevieve Marchand, an Orlesian Templar, and Marian Hawke are both new to Kirkwall.  As they both try to build a new life in the City of Chains, they discover dark secrets about the city (and themselves) and battle both literal and figurative demons.Trying doing different chapter from different points of view, and trying not to dwell on re-writing events from the game without having the whole thing too disjointed.No beta.  Minimal proofreading.  We post our typos like men!





	1. Chapter 1

-9:30 Dragon-

Genevieve hadn’t expected Kirkwall to be like this. She expected it to be more like Val Royeaux, as they were both large cities living under the Chantry’s mighty influence. However, while Val Royeaux was bright and lively, Kirkwall felt dull and heavy. Even the sky was gray and the air thick with humidity--likely just a bit of bad weather, but it still damaged Genevieve’s first impression of the city.

As Genevieve took her first steps on the stones that paved the gallows’ ground a few tiny droplets of rain fell from the sky and landed on her armor. At worst, it was a minor annoyance, but it was yet another reason to dislike Kirkwall all the same. She quickened her steps in part to get out of the rain and in part to arrive on time for her appointment with the Knight-Commander.

The rain picked up to a steady drizzle and the wind began to blow as she climbed the final set of stairs and slipped into shelter. She didn’t want to think about how she looked for her first meeting with Knight-Commander Meredith. It was only fair: Kirkwall made a poor first impression on her, and it turn she would would make a poor (and rather damp) first impression on it. Genevieve tried to ignore her damp and windswept hair and did everything she could to seem confident and collected even though she looked and felt disheveled: straight back, shoulders down, and a calm yet stern expression on her face. As she walked down the hall and approached the open door to the Knight-Commander’s office her heart began to race. Genevieve paused just outside the doorway, taking a moment to brace herself and catch her breath. Inside, the Knight-Commander stood facing away from the door and looking out the window, and in the corner a Tranquil girl wrote in a record book, the strokes of her quill just as even and steady as one would expect from a Tranquil. Genevieve lingered in silence for a moment. She didn’t want to interrupt, but it didn’t seem like she was interrupting anything at all.

“Knight-Commander?” she called.”I understood you wanted to speak to me as soon as I arrived.”

Slowly the Knight-Commander turned to face her. The look on her face was cold and stern, and her posture was at least as stiff as Genevieve’s. Again, Genevieve’s heart jumped in her chest.

“That’s right. I make a point of speaking personally with all new transfers,” the Knight-Commander answered with a small nod. “You must be Genevieve Marchand, from Montsimmard.”

“From Val Royeaux originally, but yes, I was most recently stationed in Montismmard,” she corrected, but she immediately felt foolish for speaking up. The details of her personal history were hardly relevant.

“I remember reading that in your record, yes. I also remember reading that you joined the Templar Order at an older age than most new recruits.”

“That’s true. At times I felt like a bit of an oddity because of it.” Genevieve began to feel more at ease, and she let a little brightness into the tone of her voice.

“Your records show that you were born in the year 8:99 Blessed and first joined the Order in 9:25 Dragon.” The Knight-Commander’s voice was as stern as ever. It was clear that she didn’t mention it out of curiosity or curtesy: this was all official business. “Am I correct to assume that you have a very different life and career prior to that? And perhaps a reason for such a drastic and sudden change?”

“Yes, Knight-Commander.” Genevieve paused to take a deep breath and think of how best to phrase her answer. “I was a bard and played the Grand Game until I began to feel remorse for living such a sinful, indulgent life. I wanted to start over with honest, holy work, and it’s served me well. I’d prefer to not share any more detail unless it’s necessary.”

The Knight-Commander gave another nod. “It will only become necessary if your troubled past proves to be a problem.”

“And I can give you my word that it won’t. I’ve long since left my past behind, and I’ve never looked back.” The brightness left her voice, replaced instead by firm boldness.

“And in my experience I’ve found that even the most honest person’s word means little, but I didn’t call you here to question your honesty or pry into your personal history.” The Knight-Commander took a step closer, and Genevieve had to fight the impulse to shrink back. Though both women were close in height, Meredith had a much larger presence that filled the room with powerful energy. “Ser Genevieve, I’ll admit that I know little of how the Templars of Monsimmard ran their Circle, but you will find that Kirkwall is a unique case requiring extra vigilance and care. Blood magic and rebellion are deep seated problems here. We have no margin for error in our work, and you will see things that will test your convictions.”

“I understand, Knight-Commander,” Genevieve answered. “I’ve found that becoming a Templar later in life has given me the advantage of feeling more secure in my faith and purpose than a younger woman might.”

“Let us both hope you’re right.”


	2. Chapter 2

The past few months had been a mess. There was no other way to describe it. When she stopped to think about just how much she, her mother, and her sister had survived it all seemed miraculous: narrowly escaping the Blight, only getting through Kirkwall’s city gates because of some shady deal, and each day getting through life working for a smuggler and living with her idiot uncle. Maybe it would have been better to take her chances with the Darkspawn? No, that didn’t work out for Carver and Ser Wesley, and it still stung to think about it. Probably would for the rest of her life.

Hawke had never been a spiritual person, and to tell the truth people who were a little too obsessed with their faith made her uneasy. Somehow, though, she found herself compelled to visit the city’s Chantry. Maybe prayer could actually calm her down and sooth her soul, but if it didn’t there was no harm in trying. At worst, it wouldn't help at all.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs and stood in front of the Chantry’s heavy doors she was out of breath and her legs ached. It was a wonder that every citizen of Kirkwall didn’t have massive thighs from climbing so damn many stairs. She pushed open the heavy doors and was relieved to see that the Chantry was almost empty. Almost. There was one woman kneeling near the statue of Andraste, and she seemed too deep in prayer to notice much of anything else. Good. That would make it much less awkward if she decided to give up and go home after only a few minutes.

She took a few casual steps forward, and the kneeling woman rose to her feet and began to walk slowly toward the door. Damn. So much for getting in and out without being seen. Hawke offered her an awkward, nervous smile that faded as soon as she saw the Templar insignia embroidered on the other woman’s tunic. For Bethany’s sake, Hawke made a quick inventory of the stranger’s appearance: tall, lean, pale skin, long dark hair. She looked away, afraid that staring too long would attract too much attention.

Though Hawke was sure there was enough space between the two of them, the Templar brushed her shoulder and stumbled as she went by.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the Templar gasped. Hawke also made a note of her Orlesian accent. It seemed there were as many Orlesians in Kirkwall as their were Templars.

“It’s fine, really. I must not have been paying attention to where I was going.” Hawke forced the nervous, awkward smile back on her face and shrugged.

“I doubt that I’m blameless,” the Templar sighed and rubbed her temples. “I’ve been fasting to atone for my sins, and it’s put me in a bit of a daze.”

“I can’t imagine what kinds of sins a pious Templar would need to atone for,” Hawke answered with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“We all have sins, Serah…?”

“Hawke.”

“That’s a peculiar name.”

“You really think so?” Hawke crossed her arms and leaned back. Her tone became defensive. “Is your name any more normal?”

“Yes. It’s Genevieve.”

“And I think _that’s_ a peculiar name,” Hawke answered, playfully. The smile on her face grew a little more natural. It wasn’t often you got to joke around with a Templar. Hopefully she wouldn’t regret this.

“It’s a very common Orlesian name!” Genevieve snapped.

“Too bad you’re not in Orlais,” Hawke snapped back with a laugh.

Genevieve narrowed her eyes, and a light pink flush colored her cheeks. “I really must be going now. Farewell, Hawke.”

As she continued on, Hawke called after her. “Are you going to break your fast soon? You can’t hunt apostates on an empty stomach.”

Genevieve stopped and turned back around. “That’s nothing to joke about.”

“Sorry.” Hawke nervously scratched the back of her neck. “That was in poor taste. Dangerous rogue mages are no laughing matter.” Especially because her sister was one.

“That’s not what I mean.” Genevieve didn’t stay around long enough to explain what exactly she meant. She rushed off without saying another word.

* * *

 

 

 

Hawke didn’t stay in the Chantry long enough to say a single prayer before she turned around and rushed back home. She found that rushing down so many stairs was both faster and easier than rushing up them, but she reached her uncle’s home in Lowtown feeling the same way she did when when reached the Chantry just a little while ago: winded, legs sore, and relieved to be at her destination.

She opened the door and was pleased to see that Bethany was at home and alone. Maybe that would make it easier to say what she had on her mind. She had a feeling that this conversation had the potential to become an argument, and that would be difficult enough without Mother or Uncle Gamlen listening in or trying to get involved.

“You’re home sooner than I expected. I thought you would be in Hightown much longer.” There was a faint smile on Bethany’s face, and something about that smile made Hawke feel gutted. For all his pouting and grumpiness, Carver _was_ capable of smiling, and it lit up his face in the same way that Bethany’s smile lit up hers. No one would ever see that smile again.

“That was the plan, but I changed my mind. Look, I was thinking...There’s something I want to say, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.” Hawke took a deep breath to steady herself and collect her thoughts. Many this wasn’t worth mentioning after all, but she had already said too much to back out now. “I...I don’t like the idea of you going out on your own. It isn’t safe.”

Bethany sighed and shook her head. She seemed to be taking it well. “Just the other day Mother said the same thing.”

“I know, I heard. This house to too small to keep secrets. She’s right though. You can’t swing a dead cat in this city without hitting a Templar. It would have to be a tiny cat too, maybe a dead kitten.”

“That’s terrible, don’t talk like that!” Bethany gasped.

“Sorry, but it’s true. I don’t think I could stand to lose another sibling. Maybe just try to stay by my side a little more? Look at it this way, we can spend a little more time together.” Hawke offered a shrug as she spoke.

“Only if you promise not to complain about having your annoying little sister tagging along,” Bethany teased.

“Damn. You know I can’t make that promise,” Hawke teased back. “I’ve got a little more work to finish up for Athenril. After I’m done, do you want to go to the Hanged Man? I’ll buy you a pint.”

“Only if you’ll let me help you with that work. I’d like to do my fair share.”

“It’s a deal.”

* * *

 

 

Bethany stopped after a single pint, but Hawke had considerably more than that. Not enough to make her a drunken mess, but enough to cast a pleasant haze over the evening.

“Good thing Uncle Gamlen’s house is nearby,” Bethany remarked, playfully, as the walked home.

“Good thing you’re nearly sober,” Hawke answered.

The pair turned a corner only to cross paths with a familiar figure, the sight of whom made Hawke freeze in her tracks. It was Genevieve, the Templar from that morning. She looked different now, though. In full armor, her slender form looked stronger and more imposing, and her long hair was slicked back and neatly braided and coiled into a bun at the back of her head. She still had the same slightly dazed look on her face, though.

“Serah Hawke!” she called. “I can hardly believe we’ve crossed paths again.” “Neither can I,” Hawke answered in a cold tone. Her pleasant ale-induced haze was fading fast. “Odd luck.” “Odd indeed! And, you might think I’m the most foolish Templar in Kirkwall, but I’m afraid I’ve gone and lost my way.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Hawk answered, trying to keep her mood light and playful even though panic began to creep up on her. “There are a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, so I’m sure there are plenty who are complete idiots.”

“Don’t be rude!” Bethany snapped.

“Oh, no, she’s quite right, and I’ve had the misfortune of meeting some of them,” Genevieve replied with warmth and brightness in her voice. “Do either of you know the fastest way to get to the docks from here?”

Hawke nodded. “Back around the corner, to the left, and down the stairs.”

“No, to the right,” Bethany corrected.

“Really? Are you sure? Hawke looked from Genevieve to her sister, who gave her a nod. “Listen to her, she’s had less to drink.”

“To the right it is, then. Thank you both.” She turned to go but only walked a few steps before she stopped short and turned back around, panic in her eyes. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” As soon as she spoke, Hawke had an answer to her question: rapid, heavy footsteps approaching from the corner she and her sister had just come around. One hand reaching for her sword, Hawke turned to see half a dozen bandits rushing toward them.

“Shit, there’s another one, and a Templar!” One called to his companions.

“We still have them outnumbered!” Another answered.

Hawke and Genevieve drew their swords and rushed toward the bandits, but Bethany hung back. Six against two were even less favorable odds, especially with Hawke dazed from drinking and Genevieve weakened from fasting. The pair took down one bandit without much trouble, but keeping up to finish off the remaining five became more and more difficult with each passing moment. Genevieve couldn’t put enough power behind her sword, and Hawke’s form was sloppy.

Genevieve blocked a blow from the nearest bandit, but the force he put behind his weapon threw her off balance. She stumbled, tripped and crashed to the ground. The bandits closed on Hawke, who struggled to keep them back. This couldn’t be how it ended. She had survived too much to be cut down unexpectedly by a group of criminals!

A surge of heat and light tore through the air behind her, setting the bandits ablaze, and the sickening scent of burnt flesh and hair filled the air. Suddenly, Hawke cared less for her own safety and more for her sister’s.

“Bethany, no!” Hawke yelled as she turned to face her sister. She no longer cared if one of the bandits cut her down. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving your life!” Bethany shouted back before she cast another smaller fireball. It hit one of the bandits square in the chest, killing him instantly.

Hawke’s concern for her own life returned. Four against three were better odds, and with a few more swift blows Hawke took another down, and they were evenly matched. One finally succumbed to the fire that seared his flesh, and Bethany defeated one with another burst of magical energy. Once Genevieve was back on her feet she attacked the final bandit from behind, weakening him enough for Hawke to take a killing blow.

“Bethany…” Hawke shouted through heavy breaths. Though the bandits were dead, the danger was far from over. “Bethany, run!” She gripped her sword tightly and watched her sister sprint away before turning toward the Templar. “Don’t you dare go after her.”

“You have nothing to fear. We would both be dead without her, and I won’t betray someone who saved my life.” Genevieve’s voice was firm, yet calm. Hawke wasn’t sure she could trust someone who seemed so calm after a near brush with death.

“I don’t believe you!” Hawke snapped, taking a cautious step forward. This woman’s job was to hunt innocent people like Bethany, of course she would lie about it.

“I don’t expect you to.” Genevieve laid down her sword and shield and held up her open hands. “If you would rather strike me down to spare your sister, I’ll give you that chance, but I will offer no resistance. I suggest you stop and think if you want that on your conscious.”

Hawke lunged forward, ready to act on her impulse to paint the ground with this Orlesian bitch’s blood, but she hesitated. Genevieve made no move to defend herself, to kill her would be murder, and Hawke was no murderer. “I shouldn’t be surprised that an Orlesian is so manipulative. Go back to the gallows, Genevieve, but if you or any other Templar comes after my sister I won’t let you live to regret it.”

“And you would be well within your rights, Serah Hawke.”

Hawke watched as Genevieve stooped to pick up her sword and shield and walked away: around the corner, to the right, and down the stairs, just like Bethany said. She stayed around before heading home, and as the adrenaline from the fight wore off fear and doubt began to wear her down. Maybe she should have turned into a cold-blooded murderer to protect her sister.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features some eating disorder thoughts and behaviors. Much of the reason why I'm writing this to have an outlet for dealing with my own ED, so it's going to feature pretty prominently throughout much of this fic. Still, I'll leave a warning like this for chapters that deal it with expressly, just in case anyone is sensitive to it. Stay safe, dear readers.

Genevieve couldn’t sleep that night. Intrusive feelings of guilt and remorse slipped into her mind whenever she began to feel weary enough to actually close her eyes and fall asleep. She should have gone after Bethany: a good Templar does not let her convictions falter for any reason. It wasn’t too late to go out and try to find her, and Genevieve could probably invent a good reason for why she didn’t go after her in the first place, but that would only make things worse. Genevieve didn’t fear what might happen if Hawke followed through on her threats, but she knew herself well enough to know that she would only regret that more.

Her plan was to break her day-long fast this morning, but she had little desire to do it. She gave herself rules to keep her habit from getting out of hand: never longer than a day at a time, and never more than once a week. However, after breaking so many other rules the night before it didn’t seem to matter if she broke a few more. With the burden of her new sins weighing heavily on her, Genevieve didn’t feel as though she was in any position to finish off this week’s round of penance so soon, and she certainly didn’t feel as though she could stand to put off further penance for another week.

Of all things, Hawke’s words from the other day stuck in her head: you can’t hunt apostates on an empty stomach. That much was true, and the way she fought so poorly the night before stood as proof. Today she was also exhausted, sore from where where she fell, and had a full day of patrols ahead of her. Genevieve compromised by forcing down a small serving of porridge, questioning whether or not it was the right choice.

* * *

 

 In the end, Genevieve was glad she chose to eat something, though she still hoped that she could get through the day without much more. In some ways, being a new transfer was much like being a new recruit: constant scrutiny and supervision, having to prove herself and her abilities. For this morning’s patrols, she was paired with Ser Thrask, an experienced Templar who had served in Kirkwall for a long time. She had not yet had the chance to speak to him, but she had already learned who he was and could recognize his face.

Ser Thrask was easy to spot, and Genevieve rushed towards him for just a few steps before she reined in her energy and slowed down. She didn’t want to seem too eager, even though that was exactly how she felt. Genevieve was itching to be busy and active, anything to distract her from the terrible thoughts that tried to invade her mind.

Genevieve greeted the other Templar with a slight yet graceful bow. “Ser Thrask, it’s a pleasure and an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“And you must be Genevieve.” He mirrored her bow, but his gesture was stiffer than her own. “I would like to get straight to work if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Already Ser Thrask began to walk along, his strides long and purposeful. Genevieve followed close behind for a few steps and then matched his pace. “Today’s patrol should be a quiet one: Hightown. Like most criminals, apostates often hide out in Lowtown and Darktown and come out more at night.”

“That you know of.”

“Excuse me?” Ser Thrask stopped in his tracks and turned to face Genevieve.

“Forgive me, Ser. I didn’t mean to be rude or insubordinate.” Genevieve explained. “I meant only to point out that wealthier parts of a city are not immune to having their fair share of illegal activity, magical or otherwise.”

“A fair point,” Thrask conceded as he began to walk again. Genevieve kept up beside him.

Genevieve breathed a sigh of relief before she continued, now feeling comfortable and confident enough to speak freely. “In fact, in my experience, I think those who hide among the wealthy and noble can be the most dangerous and difficult to deal with. They have more means to guard their secrets and more to lose if those secrets got out.”

Ser Thrask only responded with a solemn nod, and Genevieve swore she could see fear in his eyes. Was this a new concept for him? Genevieve doubted that, from what she had seen of Kirkwall so far she expected Knight-Commander Meredith to have dozens of her men stationed to peek into every window in the city, looking out for anything suspicious.

Just as Ser Thrask predicted their patrol was easy and uneventful, boring even. Genevieve knew that she should be grateful for it. A boring patrol was a safe one, a sign that all was well, and yet she couldn’t stand it. It was in the quiet moments when the tricky, twisted thoughts tried to creep in. With nothing to distract her, Genevieve found herself dwelling on her actions from the night before, but when she tried to banish those thoughts and feelings her mind drifted back to her meager breakfast and whether she had eaten too much or too little. Her heart and soul could have stood to fast a little longer, but her stomach already felt hollow and empty. The best she could do was divert as much attention as she could stand into the monotonous task at hand: One foot in front of the other, eyes open, mind sharp.

“May I ask about your past experience?” Ser Thrask asked, Some time had passed before he broke the silence, and though he asked about a topic that Genevieve didn’t care to talk about, she was still relieved to have anything to take her mind off of her darker thoughts.

“Which past experiences?” she asked back, trying to keep her tone bright and pleasant. “Like most people, I have many.”

“The experiences you mentioned a short while ago, about the secrets kept by the nobility,” he clarified. “Was that before or after you joined the Order?”

“Both, mostly before.” Genevieve still tried to keep her voice upbeat, but it was a struggle. Maybe she would have been better off left to her own uncomfortable thoughts. “I was a bard before I became a Templar, and I spent a lot of time poking my way into other people’s private business.”

Thrask stopped in his tracks, and a confused and curious look appeared on his face. “I’m sorry...I don’t understand how that’s related to being a performer.”

Genevieve kept walking forward, slowly, and she chuckled softly. It seemed as though no one outside of Orlais understood the true nature of a bard’s life. “In Orlais the two go hand in hand. Bards are spies just as much as they are performers, key players in The Game.” There was an unmistakable sense of pride in Genevieve’s words. For all the trouble her old life gave her, there were things she missed.

“I think it sounds like you’ve got a unique set of skills that could be a valuable asset to the Order,” Thrask replied as he caught up to her.

“I don’t know.” Genevieve shook her head and sighed. “I was never good enough at spying to keep a career of it for long, and during those years I did a great many immoral things. The remorse I feel is a heavy burden.”

Thrask stopped again, and when he spoke his voice was soft and distant. “Many of us carry that burden, Genevieve.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time! I had always wanted to work in more of Genevieve's past, and I decided to take a "show don't tell" approach. I'll be coming back to this story. Again, hoping things won't get disjointed and wonky.

_-9:23 Dragon-_

The summer heat was terrible this year. Normally, the Baron du Moreau spent the warmer months in his countryside estate, away from the crowds and the heat of the city, but this year social obligations kept him in his home in Val Royeaux for the whole month of Solace. Where the Baron went, so went Genevieve. This year, at least, it was some small relief that loose layers of gauzy white silk were in fashion. Last year, heavy velvet never went out of style, and it made for a long and miserable summer. 

Every window in the Baron’s solar was open, but with the air so still and windless, it made no difference. The Baron sat at his desk, leaning back in his seat. He wore his favorite mask: peacock feathers and pale blue gems, and to colors looked even bolder in contrast to his plain white doublet. Genevieve stood in the doorway, waiting patiently for instructions. Though he had summoned her, she was cautious to not overstep and boundaries. Her lifestyle let her get close to the elite, but that would never change the fact that she was born in the slums.

“Genevieve, come in, have a seat.” The typically stern Baron was in a rare good mood. Genevieve couldn’t guess what might have caused it. “I believe congratulations are in order. I sent Arnaud to fetch a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Hopefully he’ll hurry back soon.”

She sat across from him, rigid and on the edge of her seat. Genevieve had been working for the Baron for four years, yet she still could never quite relax around him. “Congratulations? Forgive me, Your Lordship, but I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve it.” The Baron did not give praise freely. If she had done something noteworthy, she was sure she would know it.

“Your modesty is admirable for one who crafts lies and rumors like an artist. Do you remember the Comte du Fontaine?”

“I remember telling his daughter in law that I heard he funded Ferelden rebels during the war.” It was a little lie thought up on a whim. The Baron hated the Comte du Fontaine and encouraged her to chip away at his character whenever she had the chance.

“And that led to whispers, which led to investigations, which uncovered evidence indicating that he had done just that.” The Baron leaned forward, looking past Genevieve and toward the door. Genevieve turned just fat enough to look and saw a young elf carrying a silver tray. On the tray was a bottle of champagne and a pair of flutes. “Perfect timing, Arnaud. Leave it on the desk and be on your way, I’d like to uncork it myself.” Silently, Arnaud followed his instructions and gave a respectful bow before he left. The Baron did not speak again until he was out the door. “It is my great pleasure to announce that the Comte de Fontaine was found guilty of treason and will be executed within the week”

“For something that happened twenty years ago?” Genevieve answered, shocked, as she watched the Baron take the bottle and pop the cork. A man was going to die because of something she said. Even if he was really a traitor, guilt began to weigh on her.

“Treason is treason, Genevieve, and I doubt I was the only one eager for a reason get rid of him forever,” the Baron replied as he poured the champagne. “I’m curious, though, how you managed to find out such an old secret.”

“It was only a clever guess,” Genevieve gave a soft sigh. “I overheard him saying that he thought our troops had treated the Fereldens too harshly, and I chose to exploit such an unpopular opinion.”

“Clever guess indeed!” The Baron passed her a glass as he spoke. “To the Grand Game.”

Genevieve paused and looked down at her glass. She didn’t deserved this. They were celebrating a man’s death, and she had caused it, but she couldn’t refuse. “To winning the Grand Game. ” She raised her glass and took the tiniest sip. This wasn’t right.

The Baron took a more enthusiastic sip of his champagne and gave Genevieve a sly look. “It might be a bit early to say that we’re winning. My greatest rival is gone, but I have my sights set on my next greatest rival.”

Genevieve should have guessed as much. The Baron played the Game with skill and passion, always planning his moves well in advance. “Do you mean the Comtess de Boulanger? Her son’s wedding is only in three days’ time, surely you don’t mean to make a move against her so soon?”

“Surely I do, and I trust your abilities well enough to grant you full control. I know her son has a habit of sleeping around and that the girl he’s marrying has a nasty jealous streak. I hope that gives you some ideas for ways to make them start their marriage on a sour note.”

“Some.” Genevieve made herself take another sip of champagne, but she regretted it. Each drop that passed her lips reminded her that she was actively celebrating something so very wrong.”If that’s all, Your Lordship, may I be excused? I would like to use as much time as I have to plan.”

“Of course,” he answered with a nod. “Take your champagne with you, you’ve hardly touched it.”

“I will, thank you for such a generous gift.” Gracefully, Genevieve rose to her feet and curtsied before taking her glass and walking out the door. Once she was down the hall and around the corner, however, she poured the contents into a potted plant. Maker, whatever happened at the wedding she only hoped that no one would end up dead!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm doing a little time skip right after a flashback. Hopefully this won't interfere with my goal to keep the damn thing from feeling too disjointed.

_-9:31 Dragon-_

A year ago, Hawke never would have believed this day would come, but life in Kirkwall was beginning to feel normal. It wasn’t pleasant by a long stretch, and she still missed her old home in Lothering, but she (and her mother and sister) found a way to settle into the rhythm of a new routine. Things were looking up, too. Their debt to Athenril was paid, she felt optimistic about their chances of joining the Deep Roads expedition, and (most surprisingly of all) she was beginning to warm up to Uncle Gamlen a little. Just a little.

Ever since Varric offered the opportunity for her and Bethany to invest in the expedition, Hawke kept a careful eye on her spending. The amount he asked for was awfully high, but one still had to buy the necessities. Hightown market prices were well out of her modest budget, but sometimes it was fun to look and maybe dream about having a bit more coin to spend. As she eyes one vendor selling lace and ribbons, she spotted a Templar she had not seen in some time.

“Genevieve, is that you?” Hawke called playfully as she put her hands on her hips. “Why am I not surprised to see an Orlesian shopping for ribbons?”

The Templar turned to face her and offered a weary smile. “Just looking. It’s been years since I’ve been able to enjoy such frivolities.” Only a year had passed since the two women crossed paths, but Genevieve seemed to have aged considerably in such a short span of time. Her face was thinner, skin dull, and dark circles formed under her eyes. A Templar’s life must be a harsh one.

“What a shame. I was going to suggest you get a few spools of the bright pink ones and decorate your armor with dozens of little bows.” Hawke paused hoping for a laugh, but all Genevieve did was roll her eyes. “Really, though, it’s been a long while since I’ve seen you.”

Genevieve nodded. “It has. I haven’t been able to leave the gallows much lately. Most of my work has had me guarding Circle mages.”

Maker, that must be why she looked so run down. That sounded like awful work. Good for her for getting out to get some sunshine and look at ribbons! Hawke looked down at the ribbons and sighed. Now that she was with Genevieve again, there was something important she wanted to say, it was hard to find the words, and she didn’t want to say too many details here in the crowded public market. “I want to thank you for keeping your word.”

“About your sister?”

Hawke nodded, still looking down at the ribbons. “I didn’t expect you to, and now that I’ve lived here a year and seen more of the city, I can’t imagine it was easy for you.”

“Not exactly, but it was far from the hardest thing I’ve had to do. I don’t break promises, and I don’t hurt people who’ve helped me.” There was firmness in her voice, and Hawke thought she could hear a hint of anger.

Hawke looked up from the ribbons and met Genevieve’s eyes. Maker, of all the Templars she and Bethany could have run into, what wonderful luck they had to run into who might be a decent person. “And I appreciate that, truly. Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, Serah Hawke, “I’ve just been trying to do the right thing,” Genevieve replied as she bowed her head.

“Until next time.” Hawke gave a little bow too and turned to leave, but she only took a few steps before stopping. They should have been even: Bethany saved Genevieve, and Genevieve kept Bethany’s magic a secret, yet she still felt as though she owed the Templar something. Not much, just a little show of gratitude. “Wait, Genevieve. If you ever have a chance to get out, I’m at The Hanged Man most nights. If I see you there, I’ll buy you a pint.”

“Thank you for your offer, Serah Hawke, but I don’t drink.” Genevieve smiled again. This time it actually reached her eyes.

Of course she didn’t drink. “Then you’re still invited, just to enjoy a bit of a break. I think it would do you some good.”

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can make it.”

“Hope to see you soon,” Hawke smiled brightly. “Goodbye for now, Genevieve.”

“Goodbye, Serah Hawke.”


	6. Chapter 6

As much fun as it sounded to spend a free evening in The Hanged Man, Genevieve almost didn’t go. She had fought demons and blood mages without flinching, but a just thinking of one night in a tavern filled her with fear and dread. She didn’t entirely trust herself to be around such vices as drinking and maybe lust. Genevieve wasn’t sure how she felt about Hawke, but the woman intrigued her, and she feared such feelings might lead her down a dangerous path.

Even with all of her fears, she knew Hawke was right. She needed to relax, to take a break from the responsibilities that weighed so heavily upon her. Her convictions and self-discipline were strong enough to guide her through one night of possible temptation. She could make it through one night without straying from the righteous path.

Her heart raced from nerves as she pushed open the door, but once she stepped inside her fears and worries melted away. The sounds of music and laughter lifted her spirits, and the close, heavy air wrapped around her like a blanket, but the beads of sweat she saw on the other patrons’ brows suggested she was the only one who felt comfortable in this warmth.. Even though it was nearly summer, Genevieve almost always felt cold.

The tavern was crowded, but Genevieve had no trouble finding Hawke, and she quickly walked over to the corner table where Hawke sat with a Rivani woman and a curiously beardless dwarf. At once, Hawke rose from her seat and smiled, and Genevieve couldn’t help but smile back.

“Genevieve! Good to see you. I almost didn’t think you would make it,” Hawke said. “Have a seat, please.”

“To be honest, I nearly didn’t come, but I found a way to spare the time,” Genevieve answered as both women sat down. Hawke relaxed back into her seat, while Genevieve perched on the edge of hers, her posture straight and stiff.

“Then I’m doubly glad to see you!” Hawke said with a laugh. “I’d like you to meet my friends Varric and Isabela. I’d also like to offer to buy you a drink, but you said you don’t drink, right?”

“That’s right,” Genevieve nodded as she answered.

“Hawke, your new friend seems so boring,” Isabela teased.

“Pleasure to meet you, and don’t mind her, she doesn’t mean anything by it,” Varric said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Say, do you play wicked grace? We were just about to start a game.”

Genevieve let her rigid spin relax and settle in a little, and the smile on her face grew. “I do, but it’s been ages since I played. Still, if I’m the only sober one, I may have a slight advantage.”

“No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong.” Varric held up his hands and shook his head as he spoke. “The trick is to be just buzzed enough to feel loose and confident but not so much that you can’t keep your head in the game.”

Hawke place both hands firmly on the table, leaned forward and looked from Genevieve to Varric and then to Isabela. “May the best strategy win!”

* * *

 

“That’s my third loss in a row! At this rate, I’ll be out of coin within the hour.” Genevieve crossed her arms and pouted. It seemed that having a clear, sober head had not been an advantage at all. “Chin up,” Isabela replied. “You did say you’re out of practice. Maybe it will come back to you.”

“Maybe we should just go easy on her,” Hawke added with a smirk.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m enjoying myself even if I am losing badly.” A lazy smile appeared on her face as she watched Isabela shuffle the cards. It had been a good idea to come here after all, and Genevieve was beginning to catch glimpses of her old life, when she could enjoy herself without feeling crushed by guilt. An odd impulse came over her, and odder still she embraced it instead of fighting it off. “You know, I think I might like to test Varric’s theory.”

“About drinking making you better at wicked grace? Are you sure?” Hawke asked, and Genevieve nodded. “Wonderful, I’ll buy you a pint!”

“Oh no, just a half pint! I couldn’t finish a whole one,” Genevieve corrected. Already, she began to wonder if this really was a good idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to back down now.

“A half pint it is, then.” Hawke nodded, rose to her feet, and walked to the bar. As she waited, Genevieve leaned back in her seat and offered an awkward, nervous smile to Varric and Isabela. She wanted to make polite conversation as she waited, but her mind had strayed down a dark path, and it took all of her concentration to try to steer it away. Part of her was trying to convince herself that even a half pint was a bad idea, sure to lead her down a sinful path. The other part argued back that one pint---one _half_ pint--was a far cry from excessive drinking and probably not enough to cloud her moral judgement. Luckily, Hawke was not gone long, and her return was a welcome distraction from her own thoughts.

“One pint for me, and one half pint for you. The barkeep gave me the strangest look when I said I only wanted a half pint.” Hawke said down and handed the smaller glass to Genevieve. “I hope it suits your fine Orlesian palate.”

“Well, I doubt that,” Isabela interrupted, “but it’s enough to do the job and get you good and drunk.”

“Not if you’re only having half a pint,” Varric chuckled.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in ages. It might hit me hard,” Genevieve answered with a little laugh of her own. Though she kept up a warm, pleasant appearance, Genevieve still felt so twisted up inside, gripped by doubt and fear. She tried her best to push those thoughts aside and took a cautious sip. “As for the taste, I think I agree with Isabela.”

“It’s not _that_ bad!” Hawke replied before she took a hearty swig of her own ale.

“It’s _nearly_ that bad,” Genevieve teased. At least the poor taste could be an ironclad excuse if she couldn’t bring herself to finish it.

“Ready for another game yet?” Isabela interrupted. Without waiting for a response, she began to deal the cards. “I’d like to see if that thimble of ale will help your friend relax enough to play any better.”

* * *

 

Another loss was enough to prove that a bit of ale might not be enough to make up for her lack of practice, but only a few careful little sips was also not enough to make Genevieve feel any effects. It was, however, enough to pull the guilt and shame tighter around. She had begun to stray from the righteous path, and what was worse was that she enjoyed doing so..

Isabela was already dealing the cards for another game when Genevieve stood up to excuse herself. “Thank you, everyone, but I really should go. I’ve had a little too much to drink, and I don’t think my ego could stand to keep losing at Wicked Grace. It was wonderful to spend to time with you, Hawke, and good to meet you, Varric and Isabela.”

“Wait,” Hawke stood up too. “Let me walk with you. Part of the way, at least. It’ll be safer, especially if you’ve had too much to drink.”

Genevieve hoped to walk in quiet contemplation, but she conceded that a little company might do her some good. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Hawke said a quick goodbye to Varric and Isabela, and the two women left The Hanged Man and walked in Silence for a bit. Hawke was the first one to speak.

“You didn’t actually drink too much, did you?” she asked.

Genevieve froze and gave Hawke a stern look “What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s obvious. You barely drank any of your ale, and you don’t seem the least bit tipsy.”

Genevieve’s heart raced. She should have refused Hawke’s offer to walk with her, should have refused her invitation in the first place. Now she was stuck trying--and struggling--to find the right words to explain herself. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down before she answered. “Please...I don’t want you to think that I didn’t enjoy myself. I did, but I made choices that I already regret deeply, and I need to stop myself before it gets worse.”

“So, you regret drinking a half pint...half of a half pint and playing a bit of Wicked Grace?” Hawke’s brow wrinkled in worry, but she sounded confused. “Did you have to swear off such things when you became a Templar? Because I don’t understand what you did that was worth remorse. You had a little fun, hurt no one, and stayed safe.”

“Oh, no,” Genevieve looked down at the ground. She couldn’t bring herself to look Hawke in the eye. “None of my vows forbid moderate drinking or gambling, but I hold myself to a higher moral standard.” Some of her comrades had lengthy lists of vices, but she wasn’t like that. She was better than that.

“I’m sorry, then, for leading you astray. I would like to try to spend more time with you, though. Something that you wouldn’t have any moral objections to. Maybe we could go for a walk?” Hawke tried to soften her face into a smile and reached out to take Genevieve’s hand.

Genevieve let Hawke’s hand clasp hers and dared to look up, For a moment their eyes met, and Genevieve felt a jolt that first excited her, but then frightened her. Maker, she knew this feeling, even if she hadn’t felt it in years: this was lust. The problem hadn’t been her few sad sips of ale or the rounds of Wicked Grace that she so horribly lost. The problem was Hawke.

“No!” she snapped as she pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, and thank you for the offer, but I can’t. I don’t think I should be spending time with you.”

“Genevieve…”

“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll continue to look after your sister. I have to go.” Genevieve did not say another word before she dashed off.

Tomorrow she would get back on track. Tomorrow she would fast again, even if she would break her own rules by doing it again so soon, even though she broke her rules more often than she followed them. That hardly mattered, not after what she had done tonight.


	7. chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter. Some ED thoughts at the beginning.

Several months had passed since Genevieve last saw Hawke, yet she couldn’t keep the damn woman out of her mind. Memories from their night at The Hanged Man played over and over in her mind, but what made them all the more haunting was knowing that she had _enjoyed_ herself that night and that she secretly wanted to have more nights just like it. Genevieve tried to cleanse such wicked thoughts from her mind with fasting, but she couldn’t quiet them until she went to extremes, and it took a lot for Genevieve to wonder if her habits were extreme. Instead she tried to drown out the unpleasant thoughts with prayer, obsessive focus on her work, and as much additional training as time and energy would allow. All the while she fasted in accordance with her rules: only day at a time and only once a week...even when she did spent the whole rest of the week counting down the days.

Today had been a good day, a busy one. The busy days kept her mind focused in the present instead of straying off into places where she didn’t want it to go. Several new mages were brought in that morning, and Genevieve had a spare moment to study the list of names. _Arasseth, nine years of age, male, elf, low threat level._ Oddly enough, not every young child was considered a low threat. _Jenna Graham, sixteen years of age, female, human, low threat level. Loren Humzo, twenty five years of age, human, very dangerous_ Genevieve was surprised they let him live. _Bethany Hawke, twenty four years of age, human, low threat level._

Genevieve felt as though she had been punched in the gut. Her heart raced, her head spun, and all she felt was the overwhelming urge to run and hide. It didn’t matter where, she just wanted to be far away from her, curl up and forget the rest of the world She took a few deep breaths to steady herself and reminded herself that running from her problems would not solve anything. She needed to take action, and with such a busy day, this would be her only chance to spare a few minutes.

Searching for a high dragon would have been less frightening, but still Genevieve searched the Circle’s halls for Bethany. She found the young woman quickly and easily, but she would have rather it taken longer; that would have given her more time to prepared.

“Ser Genevieve, it’s been a while.” Bethany tried to smile, but her eyes were still sad and scared, and her voice was soft and shaky.

“Bethany, I…” Genevieve tried to go on, but the words stuck in her throat. Again, she had to fight back the urge to run and hide. “I’m sorry. I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this.”

Bethany nodded, and her small smile faded. “I know, and I don’t blame you for it at all, Marian probably will, though.”

“I expected as much.” Genevieve tried to force a small smile of her own. “You know, I didn’t even learn that her first name was Marian until now. She introduced herself as Hawke, and I never heard anyone call her anything different.”

Bethany’s smile returned, but it was still strained. “You wouldn’t be the first person that’s happened to.”

Genevieve carefully glanced around before she continued. She didn’t want to be overheard by the wrong person, and she lowered her voice. “I may have failed to keep you safe before, but you have my word that I will continue to look out for you. I’ve seen for myself that in this Circle a good mage needs every ally they can have.”

“Ser Genevieve, you didn’t fail. You kept your word to the best of your ability, but thank you anyway. I appreciate your help.” Bethany’s smile grew a little, but it still didn’t reach her eyes. Genevieve couldn’t help but admire her positive attitude. She envied it too.

She did fail, though. Surely there was something she could have done to keep Bethany safe and her secret hidden. She could have taken a more active role in protecting her, could have used her old bard skills to see if there were any rumors or suspicions around the Hawke family, and she could have found a way to divert or diffuse them. She’d done such things in the courts of Orlais, and yet the idea never crossed her mind until now? Genevieve no longer felt guilty. She felt foolish.

“We can talk more later,” Genevieve bowed her head. “I have a lot to do today.”

“Of course. Thank you again, Ser Genevieve.”

* * *

 

A lot to do, and now one more on her list. Genevieve had a letter to write, and this too seemed as intimidating as taking on a high dragon on her own. Still, she took the first chance she had to sit and write it, best to get it out of the way. If she put it off, it would never get done.

_To Serah Marian Hawke,_

Genevieve wrote in a big, looping hand, but her writing wasn’t as tidy as usual. It was hard to keep neat penmanship when your hand shook.

_Bethany recently arrived at the Circle of Magi. I’m sorry that this happened, and while I swear on my life that I had nothing to do with it, I don’t expect you to believe me. We need to talk. Meet me at the docks tonight._

Ser Genevieve Marchand


	8. chapter8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, took forever, zero proofreading. You've been warned

Hawke had wanted to tear that letter to shreds and light the bits on fire, but she showed a little self control and decided against such a childish outburst. Sort of. Instead she crumpled it into a tight ball and took a few deep, heavy breaths to try to calm her anger. It didn’t help.

The nerve of that Orlesian bitch! She had waited long enough before turning in Bethany to lure them all into a false sense of security, and now she dared to deny it? And to ask to meet? Hawke’s first impulse was to ignore the letter and try to forget the Templar who betrayed her sister, but if she went at least she would have the chance to give Genevieve a piece of her mind...and maybe the business end of her blade.

The remainder of the day passed along at a slow crawl. No matter what she did to try to distract herself, Hawke’s mind continued to dwell on the meeting that loomed in the near future. Again and again she thought through what she should say, or what Genevieve might say, or possible strategies should things get violent. It was a constant burden throughout the day, but Hawke’s feelings shifted from hour to hour: anger, fear, and even curiosity. Part of her was eager to see what the Templar had to say.

When the sun went down and the hour finally arrived, Hawke set out for the docks, heart racing and breathing heavy. She went alone, but she was prepared for a fight if it came to that. Even if the meeting remained civil, one never knew what kind of things lurked through Kirkwall’s streets at night. 

At first, Hawke nearly walked past Genevieve, not recognizing her. Instead of armor, she wore a plain green linen gown and she was unarmed. Out of her armor, she looked so much smaller than Hawke expected, weak even. Hawke was reminded of when Genevieve first discovered Bethany’s magic: if she struck this defenseless woman down, it would be murder. How very manipulative. How very _Orlesian_!

“Well?” Hawke didn’t try to hide the acidic bite in her voice. Her right hand was already on the hilt of her sword, and her left hand was clenched tightly in a fist. “What is it you wanted to say? I suppose you want to try to explain yourself.’

Genevieve sighed. “I’ve spent the better part of the day thinking of how to phrase what I want to say, but I still can’t find the words.” Her voice was soft and shaky. “I’m sorry. I can’t change what’s happened, but I do want to do what I can to make it right. I give you my word that I’ll look out for Bethany and keep her out of harm’s way.”

“Just like you gave your word that you’d keep her magic secret?” Hawke scoffed. This woman couldn’t be trusted, but maybe Bethany could benefit from an ally on the inside.

“And I did keep that promise!” Genevie snapped, almost shouted. Her brow wrinkled with frustration. “I don’t know what I can say to make you believe me, but I kept my word. I should have tried to think of of a way to do more to protect her, but at the very least, I never spoke a word about her or you, or any of your friends. All the time we’ve spent together has been a very closely guarded secret.”

Too many thoughts and feeling swirled inside Hawke’s head for her to give a response just yet. She took a few heavy breaths and turned her head away, unable to stand looking Genevieve in the eye. She tried to sort through her thoughts and figure out what to say or even what to think. Instead, her mind’s eye fixated on bits and pieces of each other time they met: in the Chantry, when they fought the bandits in Lowtown, in the market, and the Hanged Man. Maybe Genevieve was telling the truth. There had been so many opportunities for her to turn Bethany in if that was what she intended to do. Hawke couldn’t think of advantage of putting it off, but that realization did nothing to soothe her anger.

Hawke took another deep breath and dared to look back at the Templar. She took her hand off of the hilt of her sword and tried to ease some of the tension in her posture, but that didn’t help her anger either. “I don’t want to believe you.” What she wanted was to blame her, or anyone. “I don’t want to, but I can’t think of any good reasons why you would reach out to me like this if you were guilty all along or why you’d reveal a secret you kept so long.”

“Thank you, that’s enough for me,” Genevieve answered with a small nod.

“Don’t let anything happen to Bethany,” Hawke said sternly. Some anger and frustration still bubbled inside her, but she felt more in control of it. She no longer felt the need to strike out.

“I won’t.” Genevieve gave a polite bow. “Good night, Serah Hawke. I should be on my way.”

“Good night, Ser Genevieve.” Hawke stayed still as she watched the Templar turn to leave, but she hesitated. “Wait...Are you sure you can get back to the gallows safely? Alone and unarmed, I mean.”

Genevieve stopped and turned to offer Hawke a sly smile. “Oh, I’m not unarmed.”

Hawke gave her a perplexed look. “What, is there a knife hidden down the front of your bodice?”

“And in each boot.”

“Well, aren’t you prepared!” Hawke tried to force a laugh, but it came out soft and strained. “I hope you won’t need them. Good night, Genevieve.”

“Good night.”


	9. chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback, now with more intrigue. At some points, I got a little more into this than the main story. Oh well.

__-9:23 Dragon__  -

Genevieve hardly slept the night before, but that was just as she expected. The nights leading up to these sorts of things always had her tangled up in both excitement and nervousness. There was a thrill in playing the Game, and an equal measure of danger. Going over the plans and details in her head all night was a necessary precaution Earlier in the evening, her lack of sleep begun to wear on her, but she caught her second wind as she and the Baron du Moreau arrived at the Comtess de Boulanger’s estate. The combination of excitement and fear was back in full force, and it gave her a wonderful rush of energy. On the outside they appeared to be just another pair of well dressed, happy guests: dressed in fashionable white silk but bold in embellishments that matched their peacock themed masks.

“I trust you’re well prepared?” he asked as he took her arm, a sly smile on his face showing beneath his mask.

Genevieve nodded. “I am. I have a subtle move planned.” She lowered her voice. “Just enough to make sure the marriage begins on a sour note.”

“Very good. And I heard you practicing the song you plan to sing as our gift for the _happy_ couple. I think the Comtess will be impressed enough to forget to suspect us of anything.”

“With luck, she won’t suspect anything in the first place.”

“Luck and skill, Genevieve, never forget your talents.”

* * *

 

As she stepped into the ballroom--still on the Baron’s arm--Genevieve had the airs of a respectable, high-born lady: a clever disguise for a sneaky bard who had a dagger tucked into her garter and a forged love letter down the front of her gown. Any lingering nerves she could blame on her upcoming performance.

Ahead of them, the major domo announced a “Valentina Basurto, merchant of Antiva City

Genevieve held her head higher, stood a little taller, and put on a small confident smile as they made their entrance and the major domo called “Baron Jean-Claude Moreau and his companion, musician Genevieve Marchand.” Companion. Musician. Genevieve wondered how many people here guessed that she was his spy. Most probably thought they were sleeping together.

For a few fleeting moments, every eye in the ballroom was on them. Genevieve’s ego began to swell until the major domo announced the entrance of “Comtess Arielle de Gaillard...and her companion, Fifi” and the guests attention was stolen by the woman bold enough to bring her tiny white dog along. Truth be told, the dog looked better groomed and more confident than the Contess.

Once he was confident that fewer eyes were watching them, the Baron turned to Genevieve with the sly smile back on his face. “Do you need much time to prepare?” he asked in a soft voice.

Genevieve nodded. “Yes, but I should still have plenty of time to mingle and make a favorable impression.” Not a moment after she finished speaking, an old friend of the Baron’s rushed over, her joy and enthusiasm easy to see. Lady Amelie Mallet stood out in the best way possible tonight. Her thick, black hair was braided into hundreds of tiny plaits and piled high on her head, and her silver mask and white silk gown glowed bright against her dark brown skin.

“Jean-Claude!” she called. “I can’t believe you’re here, it’s been ages!” Genevieve took a step back to give the pair some space as the Baron took Lady Amelie’s hands in his and softly kissed her cheek.

“Indeed it has. Half the reason why I chose to attend was because I hoped you would be here.” The sly smile was still on his face as he spoke.

“Surely you jest,”Amelie replied with a laugh.

“Not at all, my dear, but remember that I said you were only half the reason why I chose to come The other half is that I hope to make peace with the Comtess de Boulanger.”

The way Amelie mirrored his sly smile suggested that she had an idea of his real intentions. That didn’t surprise Genevieve. Amelie knew the Baron well. “How admirable of you to try to put your past disagreements behind you. I hope the Comtess is as eager to move on as you are.” Finally she looked toward Genevieve, still wearing her sly smile. “And I see you still have the same minstrel by your side.”

“And she will be performing later in the evening, part of my gift to the Boulanger family.” As he spoke, Genevieve gave a polite curtsy.

“Wonderful! Would the two of you care to join me for a glass of wine?”

“No thank you,” Genevieve answered. “I like to keep my head clear while I perform.” Or while playing the Game. “Later, though, I’m sure I’ll be wanting one.”

“I, however, don’t need to keep a clear head and would love some wine,” The Baron answered playfully. “Genevieve, you are more than welcome to join us and talk for a bit.

“Thank you, I appreciate the offer.” Genevieve curtsied again. “But I also like to find a bit of quiet solitude before performing, and tonight I feel more on edge than usual.” That was always her excuse for slipping away from a party. So far it had served her well.

“Of course, whatever you need to prepare.” The Baron gave her that sly smile again.

“It shouldn’t be too long. I’ll see you both again soon.” Once again, Genevieve curtsied before she turned to go. Her heart was fluttering with excitement. The plan was a simple one: slip away from the reception, plant the fake love letter where the new couple would see it before consummating their union, and slip back in time to sing a sweet song for the guests. She wasn’t out to destroy any relationships or lives just yet, only to plant the seeds of unhappiness. The Game was best played with a subtle hand.

She allowed herself enough time that if anyone she crossed paths with wanted to chat she could give them her full attention without being rushed, but it turned out that taking such a precaution was not necessary. Nobody was that interested in her when she wasn’t at the Baron’s side, but that was for the best. All the better to sneak through the shadows that way.

Genevieve had never visited the Comtess de Boulanger’s estate before, an added risk, but she had a plan in mind. She started off, wandering blindly down the first empty hall she found, but soon the crossed paths with a young elven footman. He froze, a look of panic on his face from the shock of seeing a guest out of place. Genevieve simply smiled calmly and took a few slow, careful steps forward.

“Ten silvers if you tell me where the bride and groom will be spending the night. Twelve if you swear on your life to forget that we spoke,” she said softly.

He swallowed hard and answered in a shaky voice. “You’re...you’re close. Turn left at the end of the hall, second door down.”

She smiled sweetly and placed the coins in his hand. “Remember, we never spoke.”

The servant looked down at the coins in his hands and nodded. “Of course.” He stuffed the coins into his pocket and quickly turned to go on his way. Once his back was turned, Genevieve went quickly and quietly down the hall to the left, and then stopped outside the second door just like the servant said. For a moment, she paused and listened carefully, only opening the door once she felt sure there was no one on the other side.

Genevieve allowed herself to breath a sigh of relief when she saw that the room was empty. Her work would be fast, easier, and safer without another witness to bribe or otherwise deal with. Still light on her feet, she padded over to bed, pulled the letter out from the front of her bodice, and read over it one last time.

_My dearest Eduard,_

_It wounds my heart so deeply to know that you will be married to that nasty bitch. I suppose that’s the price I must pay for falling so deeply in love with a nobleman. I knew all along that you would be bound to another, but I hope we can continue our affair even after your wedding. I know you stand your new wife would hate you for it, but I don’t think I could stand to go on living without you! We wouldn’t be the first couple to carry on in secret, and certainly not the last._

_Please don’t leave me forever!_

_With love,_

_Angeletta_

 

She let a sly smirk creep onto her face as she carefully placed the note on the pillow. All she had to do now was remain out of sight until she could rejoin the party and she would be free to give the best performance she could and then enjoy her evening. It was almost too easy. Genevieve was already out the door when she heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. Probably just another servant to bribe, not idea, but a manageable problem. Genevieve turned to look, but it was no servant who walked toward her. It was the Comtess de Blounager.

Genevieve’s heart jolted, she felt the urge to run, but she fought her instincts and stayed still and smiled To run or to do anything that might give the slightest suggestion of being ill at ease would be the same as screaming out that she had done something wrong. She didn’t even allow herself to indulge in a calming breath.

“Good evening, Comtess,” Genevieve said in a friendly voice as she gave a polite curtsy. She tried her best to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “I’m surprised to see you away from the festivities. I thought for sure you would be celebrating your son’s marriage with enthusiasm.”

“I have the freedom to move as I please through my own home. You, however, do not,” she answered with coldness in her voice. Her eyes fixed on the open door. “You’ve been in my son’s bedchamber.”

“Forgive me.” Genevieve curtsied again. “I wanted a little time alone before my performance, and I’m afraid I got a little lost.”

“Is that so?” the Comtess asked, narrowing her eyes. “Then surely you won’t mind if I have a look around, just to lay any of my fears to rest.

“Of course not.” Panic began to set it, but Genevieve couldn’t let it show. The Comtess was bound to find the letter, and Genevieve could only hope that she wouldn’t connect it to her and the Baron. That seemed like a lot to hope for, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“Stay where I can see you. I don’t trust you at all,” the Comtess snapped as she rushed into the room. Genevieve followed close behind, suddenly feeling like a naughty child caught in some kind of terrible mischief. Try though she did to think up a plan to worm her way out of it, fear and panic swallowed up her mind too much to let her think clearly.

Genevieve hung back by the door, panic rising by the second as she watched the Comtess (just as she expected) go to the bed, grab the letter, and scan it with a look of disgust on her face. “I’ll bet the Baron du Moreau put you up to this?”

“My lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Genevieve replied in a measured tone. Maybe a bit too measured.

The Comtess frowned deeply as she stormed over to where Genevieve stood, letter still clutched tightly in her hand. “I always hoped I would catch one of the Baron’s nasty little spies, but I never thought it would be so easy.” As she passed, the Comtess tightly grasped Genevieve’s wrist with her free hand. If it was possible, Genevieve felt even more like a naughty child.

Though the Comtess was quick on her feet as she dragged Genevieve back to the ballroom, the short walk felt like it took years, and the stares from each person they passed along the way made shame and fear crush her more and more. It was bad enough being seen in such a state by the few servant who walked the private halls, but the moment they returned to the ballroom every eye was fixed squarely on them. A sudden hush fell over the lively party, and that was soon replaced with a flurry of frantic whispers.

“Baron du Moreau,” the Comtess called out in a clear voice that rose above the whispers as she let of of Genevieve’s writs. “I’m disappointed, mostly in myself. It seems I was mistaken to think that you truly wanted to mend our strained relationship I found your bard lurking around in places where she should not have been.”

From across the ballroom, the Baron handed his empty champagne glass to a nearby servant. Slowly he walked closer, each step careful and measured. He was eerily calm, and while Genevieve knew him to be an expert at hiding his emotions, something about it was unsettling. He seemed far too easy and confident for a man who was just caught in the Game, and it sent a shiver down Genevieve’s spine.

“Is that so?” he asked in a voice that was just as relaxed and smooth as his mannerisms, but also just a little playful. “Genevieve is no bard, and I’m sure she has a good reason for slipping away from the party.”

Genevieve opened her mouth to speak (even though she still hadn’t managed to think up a good alibi), but the Comtess interrupted.

“I found her planting this in my son’s bed, trying to spread nasty rumors about him on his wedding night.” She offered the letter to the Baron, who took it without hesitation. A wicked smile played on his face as he read it.

“Oh dear. Genevieve, I had no idea. My dear Comtess, I hate to be the one to say this, but I think sneaky little Genevieve has been doing more than starting rumors. A different name might be signed, but it’s plainly written in her own hand.” He paused to lift the paper closer to his nose, and made a bit of a show of giving it a good sniff. “Why, she’s even scented it with her own perfume! If Genevieve is a bard, she’s not a very clever one, is she?”

“That isn’t true! He put me up to this!” Genevieve snapped. In her panic a wave of regrets washed over her as she fixated on what she should have done differently. She shouldn’t have hidden the letter down the front of her dress, should have had someone else write it for her, maybe should have taken the time to thought of a different plan entirely.

The Baron only shook his head and sighed. “And she goes so far as to use our past rivalry to hide her guilt.”

The Comtess shifted her cold glare toward the Baron. “I have a hard time believing that you’re blameless.”

“And given our past, that’s perfectly reasonable.” he replied as he gave a polite little bow. “I will leave you free to choose whose word to believe.”

“I want the both of you out of my home,” she hissed.

“Very well,” the Baron said with another bow. “Enjoy the rest of your son’s wedding.” He turned back to Genevieve, calm confidence replaced with cold, sharp anger. “Go your own way, Genevieve. I have no desire to keep around a woman who would disgrace me so badly.”

Genevieve stared and blinked for a moment, shocked. So suddenly the Baron had changed from her only ally into her worst enemy. “But...I have nowhere to go, and my belongings…”

“Do you think I give a damn?” he snapped. “Go.”

She curtsied, struggling to hold onto dignity in the face of defeat even though her hands shook and her heart raced. “Farewell, then, my lord.”

“And I would like the mask back,” he said with an outstretched hand. “I can’t have you wearing my family’s colors any longer.”

That was what pushed her over the edge. Genevieve’s eyes watered as she untied the silk ribbon at the back of her head and handed the mask to the Baron. Hers was the only bare face in the ballroom, and she felt so raw and vulnerable that she would have rather stripped naked. All eyes were still on her, and the room began to spin. After one tear rolled down her cheek, Genevieve finally listened to the instincts she had been trying to fight and turned to run as fast as she could. To where, she did not know. Anywhere would be better than here.


	10. chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genevieve tries to get past some remorse and crosses paths with Hawke again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> -It's been 5ever, but I was Feeling Things so I felt the urge to Write Things  
>  -Ooops, I lost the file where I wrote out the plan for where I want to take this thing  
>  -TW: ED behaviors, mention of sexual assault

Much time had passed since Bethany came to the Circle, and Genevieve kept true to her word, She watched over Bethany, protected her, and even tried to provide a little comfort and companionship. Maybe they weren’t quite friends, but they were on pleasant terms. Still, thought, it wasn’t enough. It didn’t erase the guilt she felt over the fact that Bethany was there in the first place, and it certainly did nothing to stop her from feeling shame and guilt over what happened to the other mages. Kirkwall was different, and often she wondered if she did more harm than good.

Duty, however, was a distraction. Focusing on her work left little room for other thoughts...most of the time. 

“Damn pretty, one I made Tranquil this morning. I’ve had a bit of fun with her already.”

Genevieve froze, and her stomach turned. She knew that voice: Otto Alrik’s wickedness was well known, but she couldn’t recall the name of the man he spoke to.

More to block out and try to forget before her guilt had a chance to grow. She willed herself to turn and leave as quickly and quietly as she could manage, but before she could move a muscle Alrik’s companion pointed and called to her.

“Oy! You didn’t hear any of that did you?”” he shouted.

“I..I did,” Genevieve answered meekly. She wasn’t about to add dishonesty to her list of sins.

“Don’t worry over her,” Alrik said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She’s no threat, doesn’t do anything more than mope about and pray.”

“Sure doesn’t look like a threat,” the other Templar agreed. “Small and frail as she is, I reckon she knows better than to get on the wrong person’s bad side. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, I won’t tell a soul.” The words felt like poison in her mouth. Was that the sort of person she had become? The sort who had no spine and willfully allowed others to come to gruesome harm.

“There’s a good girl, now run along and finish your patrols,” Alrik added with a wicked smile.

Genevieve didn’t linger around a moment longer, she turned to leave and tried to cleanse the whole scene from her mind by reciting the Chant of Light in her head, but the words wouldn’t come. Only one phrases repeated in her mind over and over

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

Dammit, she was neither!

She didn’t go on to finish her patrol, she tried, but she couldn’t stand another moment being around such filth and injustice. Genevieve told no one as she slipped away from the Gallows and off to Hightown: there was only one way she could think to bring balance back to her troubled mind.

Praying didn’t work anymore. Fasting helped, but it was hardly enough. Two weeks back a young recruit who was born and raised in the city boasted of how running up and down the stairs to Viscount’s Keep did wonders for his strength and stamina. Whenever Genevieve tried it, she felt more like she was breaking down her body instead of making it stronger (all of her training was starting to make her feel that way), but it cleared her head like nothing else.

She began at a full sprint and soon she couldn’t think of anything other than the burning her lungs, the ache in her legs, and the pounding in her feet. Once again, she found peace but knew it would only last as long as she kept on running, and for that reason, she planned on going as long as she was able: up and down and up again, all night if she could do it.

There was always a bit of accomplishment as she reached the top of the stairs the first time. Hawke was there, and Genevieve gave her a polite wave as a hasty greeting before Hawke called out to her.

“In a hurry to see the Viscount?” she called with a laugh

Genevieve stopped before she could turn and run back down and felt first annoyed and then angry. How _dare_ Hawke interrupt her? She had to struggle to remind herself that Hawke had no way of knowing what she was doing or why.

“No...I…” Genevieve had to stop to take heavy, labored breaths. This was easier the last time. “Training, the stairs make your legs stronger.” She tried to force a smile.

“I’m sure they do! I was hoping to find you, and it looks like you could use a short break to catch your breath.”

Genevieve didn’t want to catch her breath, but she kept on smiling. “Did you need something?” Another pause to catch her breath. “Bethany is doing well.”

“That’s great, but I wanted to ask about something else. A favor.”

“What is it? I’d be happy to help if I can.” She was still annoyed, but her words were true. Helping a friend might be enough to let her feel better, or at least keep her mind off what happened earlier.

“I’m helping a good friend with...with some trouble from his past. We’re likely...well, certain, to encounter blood mages. Angry blood mages.”

Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “Your friend is in trouble with blood mages? Is this a friend I’ve met already?”

“No, you haven’t met him. It’s complicated, I don’t know how much he would want me to share, burt I’m sure you can understand why we’d like a Templar on our side.”

“I’d be happy to help. This sort of thing was why I wanted to become a Templar in the first place.” This was what she needed to get over her guilt and shame: action and good works instead of getting down on herself.

“We were hoping to get to work today. I know you’re very busy, and I wouldn’t be bothered if you don’t have the time.”

“I said I would, and I meant it,” she snapped, but she tried to recover with a soft smile. “I wasn’t going to do anything with the rest of my day but run up and down the stairs anyway.” 

Consequences be damned, she was planning on shirking the rest of the day’s duties anyway, might as well do something productive with it. The stairs would be still be there if she still felt awful.


	11. chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genevieve meets Fenris, kills some baddies, meets Anders and confronts some figurative demons.
> 
> This was a monster of a chapter (for me). Yes, there were a few bits of dialogue copy and pasted from cut scenes, I wasn't quite sure how to handle bits from the game. 
> 
> The second half has a major trigger warning for ED things, and there will be more to come. Shit's getting real.

Deciding who to invite along on her adventures and excursions was always a delicate matter. Fenris would, of course, be part of the group: they were, after all, setting out to track down a monstrous woman from his past. She chose not to mention this outing to Anders or Merrill. As much as she hated the idea of facing powerful blood mages without a mage fighting on her side, things were always so tense when one of them was in the same place as Fenris, and once Genevieve arrived her Templar talents might give them an even better advantage than magic. Varric would be joining them as well, he and Bianca had saved her skin more times than she could count.

Hawke, Fenris, and Varric were already waiting outside the caves when Genevieve approached. She allowed herself a small smile and stepped closer. Fenris, however, glared at her and crossed his arms.

“Hawke, is this your Templar friend? She had better be as useful as you say she is, we’ve waited long enough.”

“A pleasure to meet you too, Serah,” Genevieve replied with a hint of acidic sarcasm.

“Genevieve, I’m glad you could make it. This is Fenris, the friend I told you about.” For once, Hawke tried to be polite and civil. “And I’m sure you remember Varric.”

Varric gave Genevieve a small bow and opened his mouth to speak and greet her, but before he could say anything, Fenris cut him off.

“Hawke, what have you told her?”

“Only that you had trouble with blood mages in the past. I thought I would leave it up to you to decide how much to share,” Hawke answered.

Fenris narrowed his eyes on Genevieve. “What else do you need to know?”

“Nothing, unless you want to tell me. I know that we’ll be facing blood mages and that helping you is important to Hawke. That’s all I need.”

“Blood mages and slavers,” Varric added. “Just in case that changes things. And there’s bound to be the odd demon or two. Maybe a few giant spiders for good measure.”

“Sounds like a normal day to me,” Hawke chipped in.

Genevieve gave a nod of understanding. “Nothing I haven’t faced before, but I think going up against them all at once will be a first for me.”

“Then for all our sakes I hope the new experience won’t prove to be too much of challenge,” Fenris said as he stepped closer to the entrance of the caves. “Let’s go. We’ve talked long enough, and each moment we waste gives Hadriana and her lackeys more time to prepare.”

“And here I was hoping we could catch up and chat for a little while,” Varric sighed.

“More motivation to make it out alive, then we can talk for as long as we please!” Hawke said with a laugh as she drew her sword. “Genevieve, are you ready?”

“I am,” she nodded as she drew her own sword.

 

* * *

 

Inside the dark cave the air was cold and damp, and the stench of blood and decay hung heavy in the air. Not far from the entrance, the group came across a dead body: mangled and mutilated, lying on a stone slab in a pool of his own blood.

“Looks like this poor guy hasn’t been dead long,” Varric observed.

“Sacrificed,” Fenris corrected. “They must still be here.”

“Blood magic,” Genevieve added. Her heart began to race as she began to truly realize the amount of danger they were in. This was more than a mage who simply used a few drops of their own blood from time to time, far more dark and powerful that what she was used to.

“The legacy of the Magisters,” Fenris spat. “Mages always find a way to justify their need for power, I’m sure you’ve seen that for yourself many times before, Templar.”

“I have,” Genevieve answered softly. “And I’ve also seen the same in ordinary people who have too much power and too little self control.”

“Every mage is born with more power than they can handle, and I’ve never met one with any measure of self control. Come on, if we hurry perhaps we can strike Hadriana before she expects us.”

Fenris took the lead and maneuvered through the dark halls at a quick pace. Hawke and Genevieve trailed close behind, with Varric at the rear. At first, the halls were quiet, but soon the group heard the sound of voices and heavy footfalls.

“Be ready,” Hawke whispered. “It sounds like they’re waiting on the other side of the door.”

The group braced themselves and readied their weapons as Fenris pushed open the thick stone door. As soon as the door began to open, a band of slavers rushed toward them, swords and shields at the ready, they had been expecting an attack. The group of five slavers had them outnumbered as well, but so far there weren’t yet any blood mages, demons, or spiders to deal with.

“Heads up!” Varric shouted as he pushed past his three allies and loosed a bolt from his crossbow. It found its target right between the eyes of a slaver who lingered near the back of the room. “That’s one!”

“And four to go!” Hawke yelled back as she grunted and blocked a heavy blow from the closest (and biggest) slaver. At least they were evenly matched for numbers now: three rushed toward the warriors, and one still hung near the back. He seemed hesitant, maybe he was the coward of the group.

Another one of Varric’s crossbow bolts whizzed by, and though he aimed for the man near the back it missed by a wide margin. “Dammit!” Varric shouted. However unsuccessful, having a crossbow aim straight for him seemed to awaken a sense of urgent bravado in the man, who now charged forward to join his companions.

Amid the flurry of blades and shields, Fenris knocked one of their enemies to the ground. While the man was down, Fenris seized the opportunity to make a bold move. He dove to the ground after the fallen man, phased out the matter in his arm, and plunged it into the slaver’s chest. With a swift and fluid motion, he yanked out the man’s heart and cast it aside. The man died instantly, with a sickening sound of tearing flesh and bone. Now there were three against four.

Genevieve allowed herself a moment to stare in wide eyed shock and wonder at what the elf had done, but Hawke and Varric didn’t seem to notice and fought on. Genevieve forced herself to focus back on the fight. She could ask about it later.

Those moments she spent wondering about Hawke’s friend’s abilities could have cost her dearly. The man who once lingered cautiously in the back of the room was now within striking distance. Genevieve reacted swiftly to parry his attack, and she put enough force behind her sword to stagger his balance. Hawke swooped in to take advantage of his compromised state, and while he barely managed to block the attack, he lost what little remaining sense of balance he had and fell back on the hard ground.

Varric rushed toward the man on the ground and stomped one foot on his chest to pin him down. “I just couldn’t resist,” he said with a sly smile as he loosed a crossbow bolt into the man’s throat. At such close range, the crunch of the bolt tearing through flesh and bone rang clear.

With only two enemies remaining, the slavers had little hope of victory. Fenris and Genevieve paired off against one while Varric and Hawke faced the other. Both men were fatigued and slowing down, no match for the larger group they fought. Their technique became sloppy, and each blow was less and less powerful.

Varric and Hawke made quick work of their opponent. First Varric got him in the right shoulder with a crossbow bolt, and as he screamed in pain he dropped his sword. Hawke finished him with a forceful swing of her sword that cut deep into his belly.

At the same time, Fenris and Genevieve were busy fighting their own enemy. They came at him from each side: Fenris on the left and Genevieve on the right. Genevieve attacked first, throwing her full strength and power behind her sword, and though the man parried, he was not prepared for Fenris, who struck only a moment later. The elf’s attack both shattered his shield and knocked him down to the ground, and with one final shot from Varric, he was slain.

The group barely had time to rest and catch their breath before Fenris straightened up and began to walk deeper into the cave. “We should hurry. Hadriana is surely knows we’re here now.”

“Wait,” Genevieve called through labored breaths. “I know I said I didn’t need to know anything more about you, but if those men were Tevinter slavers...were you…?”

Fenris ignored her question as he rushed along, and Hawke simply turned to Genevieve and gave her a solemn nod.

They proceeded with their weapons drawn, ready to attack should they cross paths with more slavers (or giant spiders, blood mages, and demons) and only had to fend off a few stragglers before it seemed as though they had finished off the bulk of them. After that point, the twisting tunnels were eerily quiet, but the group was remained on their guard.

Hawke nearly jumped and attacked when they came across a young elven girl, but she lowered her blade and tried to offer a polite yet forced smile. So small and afraid, this girl was no more of a threat than a mouse. A baby mouse.

Fenris approached her first, the angry scowl he had been wearing now replaced with a look of concern. “Are you hurt?” He asked as he put away his sword. “Did they touch you?”

The girl hesitated before she answered, looking at them with wide, frightened eyes. “They’ve been killing everyone.” She swallowed hard, and tears began to well in her eyes. “They cut Papa, bled him.” “Why would they do this?” Fenris asked, the angry scowl starting to come back

“It’s a sad fact of blood magic,” Genevieve offered in a soft voice, her eyes cast down toward the ground. “A person’s own blood can only grant them so much power. If a blood mage craves more power than that, and they often do, they must use the blood of another.”

The girl wiped away her tears. “That’s what the Magister said, that she needed more power because someone was going to kill her.” She paused to take a deep breath. The tears were coming back even though she plainly struggled to hold them in. “We tried to be good, we did everything we were told. I don’t understand.”

A moment of silence passed before Hawke was the first to dare to speak up. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Can you tell us your name?”

“It’s Orana. I...I don’t understand. Everything used to be fine.” The girl let out a heavy sigh and wiped away her tears again

“It wasn’t,” Fenris replied. “You just didn’t know any better.”

“Are...are you my master now?”

“What?” Fenris snapped. A sudden look of shock appeared on his face, and he took a small step backwards. “No!”

“We don’t keep slaves in the Free Marches,” Varric added.

“But I can cook and clean, what else will I do?”

There was an awkward silence, and once again, Hawke was the first to break it. “If you go to the Chantry in Kirkwall, maybe they can help you get on your feet.”

“I can’t condone that,” Genevieve interrupted. “But I don’t see what other choice you have.”

“A Templar who doesn’t want someone going to the Chantry for help? I didn’t see that coming,” said Varric.

“I have my reasons,” Genevieve replied.

Silence fell again, and Hawke sighed before she spoke. “You know, I could use a little help around my house, now that I think about it.”

Fenris gave her a nasty glare. “So you’re keeping slaves now?”

“What sort of person do you think I am?” Hawke asked, bewildered. “I just want to give her a place to stay, and a job with fair wages, Maker knows I can spare it now.”

“My apologies, then.” His glare vanished. “Let’s find Hadriana before she has more time to prepare.”

“Wait here, Orana, and try to stay safe,” said Hawke. “Once we’re done, you can come back home with me.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Orana said with a gracious bow. “But what if you don’t make it back?”

“Listen, Orana,” Varric answered with confident smile. “Hawke is one of the toughest fighters I know--and I know a lot of people, Broody can rip a man’s still beating heart from his chest, Genevieve fights mages for a living, and with a little help from Bianca, yours truly has lived to tell about some pretty dire situations. I think at least one of us will survive.”

“And just in case we don’t,” added Hawke. “You can find my mother at the Hawke estate. Tell her that I promised to help you out, and she will be just as willing as I am.”

Orana tried to smile as the group pressed on. Further into the tunnels they went, encountering the odd small group of slavers along the way. The enemies they faced posed little challenge, but the fighting took its toll and left them short of breath and aching well before they faced any truly challenging foes. After twisting and turning down more dark halls, they found their mark: a dark haired woman dressed in robes, and a final group of slavers.

“That’s her!” Fenris shouted, pointing with his sword. “That’s Hadriana!”

The group found a new burst of energy as they sprinted toward their enemies--all save Varric who hung back near the entrance with his crossbow. He focused on fighters instead of the magister, bolts flying through the air as quickly as he could manage.

Fenris and Genevieve found themselves attacking the same target: Hadriana. Fenris made his choice based on pure rage and fury, while Genevieve knew that her talents would be best used directly against the mage. The lyrium in her veins did its work as she attacked, and even as Hadriana drew a blade and cut the flesh on her own arm, her powers were greatly diminished. Rather than a blood mage who had recently bled a man dry, her spells were more like that of a young apprentice: still lethal, but far less brutal.

Varric and Hawke made quick work of the slavers. Two were soon dead and full of crossbow bolts, one other hacked to pieces by Hawke. The pair worked together against the final two: Hawke weakening each before Varric dealt the final deadly blow.

Only Hadriana remained standing, but with the odds stacked so heavily against her she found a new sense of urgency to dig deeper and fight harder. Genevieve could not suppress her magic any longer, and she unleashed a furious burst of arcane force. All four were knocked back, and while Varric, Hawke, and Fenris were able to stagger back to the feet, Genevieve took her fall much harder.

She screamed in pain as she fell, one foot catching in the cobblestones and twisting with a sickening crunching sound as she went down. As the others regrouped to attack Hadriana, Genevieve tried to get back to her feet, but the searing pain kept her down. All she could do was silently say a prayer and try to find that connection again: to the lyrium and to the Fade. With her jaw clenched tightly to brace herself against the fire in her leg, she was able to slowly stand and limp forward, sword still ready. Damned if she would give up so easily.

The others had weakened Hadriana greatly, and thought Genevieve made a few weak, token blows, Fenris was the one who knocked her down and brought her to the brink of death. Genevieve no longer had to put on a brave face and allowed herself to crumple to the ground as well.

Fenris lifted his sword over his head, preparing to make the final killing blow, when Hadriana called out.

“Stop! You do not want me dead!”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “There is only one person I want dead more.” He gripped his sword tighter, still ready to finish her off.

“I have information, elf, and I will trade it for my life.”

“The location of Danarius? And what good would that do me? I’d rather he lose his pet pupil.” Fenris braced himself and pulled his sword back. It wouldn’t take much to kill her at this point, but he still intended to make the killing blow with his full strength

“Wait! You have a sister. She is alive. Let me go, and I will tell you where she is.” Hawke narrowed her eyes on Hadriana. “I don’t trust her.”

“Nor do I,” Fenris agreed.

“You have no reason to, but I know Fenris, and I know what he’s searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius, he’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fenris, the choice is yours to make,” said Hawke.

Fenris lowered his sword and knelt down to lean closer to the fallen magister, a deep scowl on his face. “Go on.”

“Her name is Varania, she’s serving Magister Ahriman in Qarinus.”

“A servant, not a slave?” Fenris asked.

“She’s not a slave.”

The markings on Fenris’s skin began to glow, and he thrust his hand into Hadriana’s chest before he stood and turned away. “We’re done here.” Without another word, he began to walk away, swift and light on his feet.

“Fenris,” Hawke called. “Do you want to talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. May the bitch and every mage in Thedas rot.” Without another word, Fenris turned away and stormed off.

“Fenris, wait,” Hawke called as she took a few steps after him, but he ignored her and walked on.

“Let him go, he needs to process this in his own way,” Varric replied as he came closer. “Genevieve, are you hurt? You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

Genevieve nodded. “I turned my ankle badly,” she answered through clenched teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever hurt so much before, but I should be fine. It wasn’t so bad of a fall.” Slowly and carefully, she tried to get back up on her feet, but Hawke rushed over, knelt by her side, and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder.

“Maybe don’t try standing on your own just yet. Come on, I’ll help you get back to the gallows, and I’m sure one of the Circle mages there can help heal you up.”

“No!” Genevieve snapped, shrinking away from Hawke’s touch. “I can’t go back there injured.”

“Are they so restrictive with magic here that they wouldn’t allow a mage to heal you?” Hawke asked, leaning in.

“No, no, it isn’t that,” she answered with a sigh. “They think I’m frail. I’ve been badly hurt over little things before. I can’t afford to show any more signs of weakness.”

Hawke looked down and bit her lip, hesitating before she responded. “I know a very skilled healer. He’s an apostate, though.”

“Hawke…”Varric began softly. “Blondie’s not going to like you bringing a Templar right to his front door.”

“I know, but I think I can handle his wrath. Genevieve, the choice is yours. If you give your word to keep his whereabout secret, I can take you to my friend. Or, I’d be equally happy to take you back to the gallows.”

“Bring me to you friend. Do this for me, and you have my word that I’ll offer your friend the same protection I gave Bethany.” Genevieve replied with a solemn nod.

“Perfect, Can I take a look at that ankle before we go?” As Genevieve unlaced her boot, Hawke lifted her head and turned to look at Varric. “Can you take Orana back to the estate? I’m going to be a while.”

“You got it, Hawke,” he answered with a wink, “but don’t complain to me after Blondie loses his temper.”

“Thanks,” Hawke turned back to Genevieve, who now had her boot off. Her ankle and foot were already swollen and bruised. Hawke sighed and shook her head. “I won’t lie, it looks worse than I expected. It looks angry.”

“It looks furious,” Genevieve added. “And I don’t think I could get my boot back on, at least I don’t want to put it back on.”

Hawke rose back to her feet and offered Genevieve a hand. “That shouldn’t be a problem. You’ve got me to help you get back to Kirkwall, and it’s a warm day.”

“I don’t think it’s warm. I think it’s freezing. I’m always freezing,” Genevieve answered as she took Hawke’s hand, holding her spare boot in the other.

 

* * *

 

The pair began their walk back to Kirkwall in silence, but as they approached the massive city, Hawke dared to ask a question that circled through her mind.

“Genevieve,” she began. “Earlier you told Orana not to go to the Chantry for help. Why is that? You’re a Templar, and so pious, I thought that would be the first thing you would suggest to someone in need.”

“You ask about something very complicated and very personal,” Genevieve answered with a new cold tone in her voice. “Once I had nowhere to go and went to the Chantry out of desperation, and it created as many problems as it solved.”

“So you regret it?”

“Serah Hawke, I regret most of the things I’ve done.”

Hawke looked down and went along in silence for a little while longer before she took a deep breath and braced herself for the question she was about to ask. “Do you regret meeting me?”

“I can’t deny that you’ve made my life more complicated, but, no, I don’t regret meeting you. I think you and Bethany are the only real friends I have in this city.”

Hawke smiled. “It seems like everyone I’ve met in Kirkwall has made my life more complicated. I guess it’s only fair that I pass it on to someone else. How does your ankle feel?”

“Just as bad, and maybe worse. I’ve just been trying to ignore it.”

“Damn, and there’s still quite a way to go.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they passed through Lowtown, the sun was beginning to set, and early evening settled in when the pair reached Darktown. The humid air stank with filth and decay, and the few people they passed all had dirty faces and sad, hungry eyes.

“Not much further,” Hawke said softly, careful with each step as she led Genevieve along the uneven ground.

“I understand why you friend lives here. Templars don’t come down here often.”

Genevieve replied.

“”No one comes down here often unless they have to. Here we are.” Hawke let herself into the clinic. Inside a tall man with blond hair sat at a table, so engrossed in the writing he worked on that he did not notice the visitors. “Anders?” she called. “I brought a friend who needs your help. She hurt her ankle badly.”

“Of course, Hawke that should be no trouble at all,” he said as he stood up. His voice was bright and friendly...until he turned around and saw who Hawke’s friend was. The man’s expression changed in an instant: eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, and barely contained rage held within. “Hawke, are you out of your mind? Did you really think it was a good idea to go and show a Templar where I live? I’m not helping her, and I’m not sure I want to let her walk out of here alive.”

“I don’t think about most of the things I do; you know that. And just look at her, without proper healing, she’s not walking out of here at all.” Hawke took a breath and tried to put on a civil smile. “Anders, this is Ser Genevieve. I told you about her, she’s been helping Bethany.”

“What a lot of good that did,” Anders grumbled. “Bethany’s in the Circle.”

“And without my protection she might also be raped, murdered, or made Tranquil!” Genevieve nearly shouted. She gave Hawke a desperate look.

“Anders, please?” begged Hawke.

“I’m not helping her. If you take her away now, maybe I can try to forget that this ever happened and pray that your _friend_ won’t send more of her kind to my doorstep.” He turned away and took a step back to his table.

“I can help you. I can give you the same protection I gave Bethany,” Genevieve offered. “She may have ended up in the Circle, but that was not my doing. I can divert attention away from you, send you information. I was a bard in Orlais before I was a Templar, Maker only knows I can craft in secrets and manipulation like an artist does with paint, thought I can’t stand to do it anymore.”

“And why can’t you go to a Circle healer?” he inquired. His expression was still harsh, but his voice had softened.

“Anders, her reasons are personal…”

“No,” Genevieve interrupted. “He should know. I’ve been in poor health, and I’ve been taking great care to hide the extent of it because being declared unfit for duty would destroy me.”

“If not for her, then do it for me, and for Bethany” pleaded Hawke. “Kirkwall needs more Templars who aren’t complete monsters.”

“I only hope I won’t regret this,” Anders said as he shook his head. “Sit down, and I’ll see what I can do. How did you hurt your ankle?”

“We were fighting a blood mage,” Genevieve began while Hawke helped ease her down into a chair. “She knocked all of us back with a blast of magic, and my foot caught on the ground as I fell.”

“Maker’s breath, Hawke, you never said she hurt herself fighting mages!”

“She wasn’t an ordinary mage, Anders,” explained Hawke. “She was an old enemy of Fenris’s, she wanted to take him back to Tevinter, back to slavery. Genevieve wasn’t hunting apostates or anything.”

“But you’ve hunted them many times before haven’t you?” he asked, anger rising in his voice again. “How many, I wonder? Dozens? Hundreds?”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Genevieve responded, impatiently.

“I will, but only for Hawke and Bethany’s sake.” He knelt in front of her and gently took her ankle in his hand, but even his soft touch was enough to make Genevieve yelp in pain and jerk away. “My first guess is that it’s broken.”

“You’re serious? That would make this the second time this month.” Genevieve looked down at her lap and shook her head.

“You already broke this ankle this month?” Anders seemed surprised.

“No, but this is my second time breaking a bone this month. The first time I fell running down the stairs from Viscount’s Keep and broke my wrist.”

“Like you were this morning?” interrupted Hawke. “How often do your run up and down those stairs?”

“As often as I can manage.”

Anders took Genevieve’s foot in his hand again, and because she expected the pain Genevieve only winced. “It sounds like you break bones often.”

“Not too often.” Genevieve looked toward Hawke. “But more often than most, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s worrying, but this should be easy enough to fix. Hold still.” Anders took a firmer grasp on Genevieve’s ankle and with a swift motion forced the bones back into place.

Genevieve shrieked again. “You could have warned me!”

“Forgive me then, Templar, but at least the worst is over.” Anders leaned back and took a breath, focusing calming energyy as he cast a healing spell. Before their eyes, the swelling subsided and the bruises faded. Genevieve dared to wiggle her toes, and then to slip on her boot and stand up.

“Thank you, you’ve done you work well.” Genevieve offered a polite bow as she spoke. “You have my word I’ll stay true to my promise.”

“You had better, Templar.” Anders rose up to his feet to and looked her boldly in the eye.

“No need to worry, I don’t think Hawke would let me live to tell about it if I didn’t.”

“She’s right,” Hawke added with a smile. “See you later, Anders.”

“Until then, Hawke.”

 

* * *

 

 

Genevieve and Hawke walked together through Darktown until they reached the stairs leading up to Lowtown.

“Genevieve,” Hawke asked. “Are you alright to make it back to the gallows on your own? I didn’t know if maybe you were still in pain or just wanted the company.”

“I could, but…” she shook her head. “Maker, though, I don’t want to go back there. I should have told you earlier, but before I saw you this morning I had a disagreement with another Templar. I literally ran away from the problem and shirked an entire day’s duty. I don’t think I could stomach to go back there and face what I’ve done.”

“You’re going to have to eventually.”

“I know, but I think I could handle it better if I’ve had a night to rest and think it over.”

Hawke stopped and took Genevieve’s hands in hers, turning so she could face her and look her in the eye. “Are you asking if you can come home with me?”

“I...I’d like to, but I shouldn’t. I would hate to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing at all; I’d be happy to have you.” The warm, excited tone in Hawke’s voice made it clear that she spoke the truth. “And if you’ve already gone and mucked up the day, it can’t get much worse, can it?”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“But I insist. Think of it as a final step in your healing, a good night of proper rest and relaxation just to be sure that everything is mended.”

Genevieve sighed and shook her head. “You’ve done it. I’m convinced, but let it be know that this exactly what I meant when I said you make my life complicated.”

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

The pair walked hand in hand back up to Hightown, and when they reached the Hawke estate, Genevieve stopped and let her hand fall as she stared in wide-eyed wonder. “You live here? Bethany said you were about to get back the old family home, but she never said it was a home like this.”

“Well, Bethany never lived here.” Hawked mumbled, opening the door.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...We talk often, but sometimes Bethany doesn’t share all the details, and…”

“Genevieve,” Hawke interrupted firmly. “I don’t want to talk about Bethany now.” Genevieve answered with only a nod as she followed Hawke inside.

“Anyway, the interior of your home is lovely too,” she went on, quickly changing the topic.

“So it meets your high Orlesian standards?” Hawke joked, offering Genevieve a playful smile.

“It does, and you should be proud. My high Orlesian standards are difficult to meet.”

“Glad to hear it!” Hawke laughed. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

“A cup of hot water, please,” Genevieve replied.

“Just hot water? No tea or anything.?”

“That’s right. Water is all I drink these days,” explained Genevieve.

“Hot water it is, then. Let me get that for you.” Before Hawke could turn to go, Orana stepped into the foyer, and Hawke gave her a warm smile. “Orana! It looks like you found your way here alright.”

“Yes, mistress, your friend was very helpful,” she responded with a bow.

“I’m not your mistress, please call me Hawke. Can you please bring a plate of bread and cheese up to the bedroom? And tea and plain hot water.”

“Of course. Iit would be my pleasure mis...Hawke.” Orana bowed again and tried to smile.

“Thank you.” Hawke took Genevieve’s hand and led her up the stairs and into the bedroom. Her pace was fast and eager, and Genevieve dragged behind. Once they crossed the threshold, Hawke held on to Genevieve’s hands for a moment, but Genevieve pulled away.

“Can you help me with some of the straps at the back/” Genevieve asked as she began to unfasten her bracers.

“Maker, you’re eager. Don’t forget that Orana will be coming up soon.” Hawke went around to Genevieve’s back and began to unbuckle the straps that held her armor on.

“What? No, I only want to get out of the armor. It’s a poor fit and hurts me badly every time I wear it.” Genevieve explained, letting her first bracer fall to the floor before working on the next.

With two pairs of hands, it was quick work. Soon various pieces of armor lay strewn on the floor, and Genevieve stood only in tunic, a loose fitting garment that hung limp on her narrow frame.

Hawke began to remove her own armor, and as Genevieve stepped behind her to return the favor, Orana came down the hall and stood in the doorway, carrying the tray of food and drinks.

Hawke looked over and smiled. “Thank you Orana, you can put that on the table.”

Orana nodded and set down the tray on the table like she was told. “Do you need anything else, Hawke?”

“That’s all. Just close the door on the way out and feel free to help yourself to anything from the larder.”

“Anything? Are you sure?” Orana’s eyes opened wide with both delight and surprise.

“Anything your heart desires. I have enough food to spare.”

“Thank you, Hawke, You’re so kind,” Orana bowed and hurried out, closing the door behind her as she left.

Genevieve took her cup of hot water, and perched on the edge of the bed. Already, she shivered and tiny goosebumps appeared on the exposed skin on her hands and neck. Her posture was rigid and tense.

“Are you really cold in here too?” Hawke asked as she took a piece of bread and placed a thin slice of cheese on top.

“I told you, I’m always cold.” Genevieve took a long sip of her water.

Hawke stuffed the bread and cheese into her mouth and ate it before replying. “If you’re cold now, what do you do in winter?” She sat next to Genevieve and leaned in close.

“Complain loudly,” was all Genevieve had to say to answer as she looked down at her cup.

Hawke wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s shoulders. “I’d like to warm you up if you’ll allow it.”

The tension in Genevieve’s shoulders and back melted away as she relaxed to lean into Hawke’s side. She looked up to meet Hawke’s gaze, and after their eyes locked for a moment, both women closed their eyes and leaned in closer until their lips met. The kiss was short and sweet, but also warm and tender...until Genevieve pulled away and looked down again.

“I’m sorry, Hawke. I shouldn’t lead you on. All I really want to do tonight is rest.”

“Not to worry, you haven’t led me on at all. It seems like you’ve had a rough day.”

Genevieve took another sip of water, and she did not look up even as she spoke. “I’ve had a lot of rough days lately.”

“And you’re still sure you don’t want anything to eat? Or maybe a stiff drink?” Hawke offered.

“Dammit, Hawke, that isn’t going to help” snapped Genevieve. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, but I have so much on my mind.”

“You’re hiding something.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I’m hiding something”, Genevieve sighed. “Keeping secrets is an Orlesian tradition, I’m surprised you weren’t the one to make a joke about it.”

“Well, for once I don’t think it’s right to joke about this. You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but I think it’s plain to see that something is bothering you a lot.”

The pair sat in silence for a while. Hawke wrapped her arm back around Genevieve’s shoulders, and Genevieve continued to sip her hot water.

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I probably should.” Genevieve broke the silence, but her voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s your choice.”

Genevieve drank down the last of her water and handed her cup to Hawke. “Here, hold this. It’s easier if I show it.” She stood up and turned to face Hawke. “I said before that I’m in poor health. This is what I meant.”

She took a deep breath and let loose the braid in her hair. As she ran her fingers through her hair, a noticeable number of strands fell out in her hand. “That’s probably the least of my problems.” Another deep breath, and Genevieve tried to put on a brave face as she took off her tunic.

With nothing to hide behind, her body looked not only thin but rough and worn out: bruised, hollow through her chest and ribs, red patches where her skin rubbed raw.

For a moment a look of shock appeared on Hawke’s face, but she tried her best to hide it behind concern. “What’s happened to you?” she gasped.”

“I’m falling apart, Hawke.”

“And you’re really sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“Stop trying to make me eat! How can I make it any more clear? That’s part of the problem...that _is_ the problem.” Genevieve slipped her tunic back on and crossed her arms across her chest.

“So you mean to say you’ve done this to yourself?”

The worried look on her face was replaced by one of confusion.

“That’s not what I said! At least, it’s not simple like that. I fast often, and I know I eat less than I need to, but I can’t. Believe me when I’ve said that I’ve tried.”

“But why can’t you stop? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Genevieve sighed and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “If I could stop so easily, don’t you think I would have stopped long before before my bones turned to glass or my hair started falling out? Before I found myself constantly in pain and drain of energy every moment of every day? Every time I try to think about the why and wherefore it makes less sense. That plate of food on the table, I don’t look at it and see bread and cheese, I see a threat to my virtue, If I give in I feel like a weak willed glutton, and if I don’t I keep wasting away. I already carry so much guilt and shame, I can’t stand the thought of willfully adding more even if starvation is the price I pay.”

Hawke sat beside Genevieve and wrapped an arm back around her shoulders. “I still don’t understand why you would do this, but I do understand that it took a lot of courage and trust for you to say it, and that means a lot to me.”

Genevieve shook her head. “I know I sound like I’m completely out of my mind.”

“Not out of your mind, just frightened.”

“Terrified.”

Hawke leaned in to kiss Genevieve’s forehead. “Would you be upset if I said I’d feel much better knowing you ate something before going to bed?”

“Can’t I at least wait until morning? The last time I ate was this morning, and I’d like to fast for a full day. It’s a rule I have…”

“That rule is complete bullshit,” interrupted Hawke.

“You’re right,” Genevieve sighed, “And now that I’ve told you about my problems, I suppose you’re going to call me out on all of my bullshit.”

“And lucky me, I love calling people out on their bullshit.” Hawke stood up and went back to the table. This time she topped two pieces of bread with cheese and offered one to Genevieve as she walked back. “To your health. Wait, How do you say that in Orlesian?”

“À votre santé.”

And with her hands trembling and heart racing, Genevieve took a bite.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback, featuring how Genevieve first came to the Chantry, and also how she first started restricting.
> 
> As you can imagine, this chapter has a major trigger warning for eating disorder content, especially at the end. It gets into the restricter's mindset, and I honestly had hesitations about including it at all. Please know that my intention is was to show the thoughts and feelings that led Genevieve down her path. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to this sort of content!

_-9:23 Dragon_

No money, no home, and no friends, yet Genevieve found a way to survive. She spent the first night on her own wandering the city in a frenzied panic, struggling to keep a clear head until she gave in slept an open alleyway. When dawn came, the sense of panic lingered, but she had a plan in mind. She was lucky that the Baron let her leave still wearing her jewels and baubles, and though she was able to sell them, she was far too desperate to waste time trying to negotiate a fair price. That coin lasted her a little while: cheap meals and dirty rooms in crowded inns became her new normal. In time it ran out, and Genevieve had to rely on some of her other talents. The nobility had always loved to see her sing and dance, but performing in the streets only brought her a few lonely coppers and occasionally meager applause. Cheap meals were downgraded to crumbs and scraps, and more often than not she had to lay her head down to rest on the cold ground. Summer faded into autumn, and with each passing day it became clearer and clearer that she could not go on living like this for long.

Genevieve was nothing if not proud, far too proud to ask for help, until an unseasonably cold mid-autumn night wore away at her resolve. A few flurries of snow danced in the air, even though it was much earlier in the year than when the first snow usually came. This was only a small preview of what the winter had in store and what Genevieve would have to endure if she couldn’t find a more stable, safe way to live her life. She had to find a place to seek shelter from the cold, but without a single copper to spend, no inn or tavern would want her to linger for long. The only place she could think to go was the Chantry, but that seemed wrong. Genevieve had never been religious, and all she wanted was a bit of warmth, not to show any kind of spiritual devotion.

Even with one hand pressed against the heavy wooden door, she hesitated and considered turning back around to face the cold, but instead she took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Any remaining feelings of doubt melted away the moment she felt the warm air on her icy skin. Yes, this was the right thing to do, and even though she would only pretend to pray as an excuse to stay out of the foul weather, maybe someone would still hear her prayers.

Once inside, Genevieve felt tense and awkward, and the urge to turn and go came creeping back. She took another deep breath to steady herself and found an open spot by a statue of Andraste where she knelt, bowed her head, and closed her eyes in silent prayer.

_Maker, if you exist give me a way to survive this winter_ , she thought. It sounded so empty in her head. Even if the Maker was real, He didn’t answer anyone’s prayers anymore. Even if he did, there were others far more deserving than a non-believer who once made a living off of lies and trickery.

_Maker, you exist, forgive me of all the wrong I’ve done._ That was certainly too much to ask for

_Maker, if you exist, give me a sign so I can know if I’m wasting my time._ She expected nothing.

“Are you alright, child?” A gentle female voice called, startling Genevieve out of her silent contemplation.

Genevieve opened her eyes and looked toward the stranger: an older woman with a soft face and dull brown hair streaked with gray. Her best guess was the the woman was a Mother, she had that wise, pious look about her. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” she replied. Surely she was starting to overstay her welcome, but thought of going back out into the cold filled her with dread. “I’ve just finished my prayers and should be on my way.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you need?” The woman’s voice took on a different tone: a firm, somewhat stern once that reminded Genevieve of being a child caught in a lie by her mother.

“Might I ask what about me makes you think I need something?” Genevieve asked in return, a sharp bite in her voice. She stepped back, defensively, and her back and shoulders tensed.

“The way you answered my question, for one.” Some of the kindness and warmth returned to the older woman’s voice. “I also see that your clothes are dirty, and you have no cloak on this cold night, and in my experience I’ve found that few people pray with such intense focus unless they truly need for their prayers to be answered.”

“You’re right, I have fallen on hard times,” Genevieve admitted.

“The Chantry offers help to all who need it,” the woman answered with a polite nod.

“I may need it, but I certainly don’t deserve it. I haven’t been a good believer, and I haven’t lived a virtuous life,” Genevieve answered with a sigh, turning to leave and taking two steps toward the door.

“It’s never too late to start a new chapter in your life, my child, but if you would rather go home and find solutions to your troubles in your own way, I understand.”

Genevieve stopped short and turned back to the woman. She looked down at the floor as she spoke. “I would like to go home and sort things through on my own, but I have no home to go to.”

“This can be your home if you devote your life to the service of the Maker.”

Again, Genevieve froze and hesitated before she answered. Her life could go one of two ways: she could leave everything she once was behind and steer her life in a new direction she never expected or she could cling desperately to her pride and probably die. It should have been an easy choice to make, but her heart fluttered, and both choices seemed wrong.

“Then I devote my life to Him.”

* * *

 

 

A quiet Chantry life was just the change that Genevieve needed. At first she feared that her new life would be a dull one, and while it wasn’t an exciting way to live, she found comfort in the stability and predictability. She was safe, she knew what to expect each day, and she never had to worry where her next meal was coming from. And yet, even though she worked hard to do her part, Genevieve often feared that she did not deserve such generosity, especially when it came to the food. Even now when food was in abundance again, she found herself without much of an appetite and too fearful to allow herself as much as she wanted, lest she seem greedy and gluttonous. However, she tried her best to ignore those thoughts or try to reason them away by reminding herself that she worked hard to serve the Maker and was every bit as deserving of the Chantry’s help as anyone else.

With survival no longer something she needed to worry about, Genevieve’s thoughts kept circling back to things she had done in her past, wrong things. Surrounding herself with righteous piety served to remind her how wicked her former life had been: lies, lust, greed, violence, drinking, willfully ruining the lives of others. It was a heavy burden to bear, and most of her daily prayers begged for forgiveness. It was too late to change what she had done, but maybe she could atone for her sins or at least find a way to move on and stop feeling so guilty about it all.

It was in the quiet moments when her remorse weighed her down the most, and while she could fight it off by staying busy, those quiet moments could not be altogether avoided. It was at its worst when she tried to fall asleep, for at that time she didn’t have the option of going off to find something else to distract her troubled mind. Only after a series of sleepless nights left her run down and exhausted did Genevieve swallow what remaining pride she had and try to find some extra help.

Though she had already been awake with worry for hours, the sun had only just risen when Genevieve went to find Revered Mother Undine, the same kind woman who greeted her when she first came to the Chantry for help. She found the Revered Mother sitting in the courtyard: reading and so engrossed her her book, that she did not look up when Genevieve approached.

For a moment, Genevieve waited before she spoke. “Excuse me, Revered Mother? I’d like to talk, is this a good time?”

Undine set down her book and smiled. “It is. I had some time to spare, so I was brushing up on a little history. Tell me what’s on your mind, you seem troubled.”

“I am,” Genevieve answered. “Lately I can’t stop dwelling on the mistakes and sins from my past. I know I can’t undo what’s already been done, but moving forward seems impossible.”

“I assure you that isn’t not impossible,” Undine replied in a gentle, warm voice. “Many people who lived deeply wicked lives have found peace from walking the righteous path, and in time you will too. Try not to dwell on the past, but look forward to what you can do right in the future. Since you’ve been here, you’ve done a great many good works, and each new day will bring new opportunities to do more.”

“Thank you, Revered Mother,” Genevieve smiled. “I know you’re right, but I still feel as though I’m not doing enough.”

The Revered Mother nodded. “We often speak of forgiving others or asking the Maker for forgiveness, but never forget that we must also forgive ourselves for our own wrongdoing. Some find that they cannot do so unless they first pay proper penance.”

“Penance?”

Again, Undine nodded. “Acts of repentance and self-discipline such as prayer and good works, which I think you’ve done in good measure. Some find that brief fasting works to clear the conscience well.”

Fasting. That was the one thing she hadn’t tried, and maybe that was the key.

“Thank you Revered Mother. You’ve given me some reassurance as well as some things to think about.”

“I’m glad. Take care, Genevieve.”

* * *

 

Fasting came easily to Genevieve. With little appetite to begin with, it was no great challenge, and though she would never dare admit it, in a way she enjoyed it. The hunger pangs and dizziness let her know that her punishment was working, and she filled with pride to know that she had enough discipline and devotion to deny herself what her body needed. She was holy and pure when she fasted: no indulgences, no desires, no sin.

It began as an experiment. At first Genevieve was skeptical that fasting would have the effects that Revered Mother Undine described, but it cleared her head like nothing else. Soon it became a habit: once a week she set aside a special day which she looked forward to all week long and always dreaded its end. Her burden of guilt lessened, but it never went away. Instead it shifted. Genevieve felt less remorse for the mistakes of her past and more for the food she ate.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genevieve begins the difficult process of dealing with some of her problems. Another major trigger warning for ED thoughts, this is the start of the "it gets worse before it gets better" phase.

_Whore._

All she had done was kiss Hawke, but the guilt and shame of it wrapped around her tightly and suffocated her. Genevieve knew there was nothing morally wrong with a kiss, not for someone like her who had taken no vows of celibacy, but in her mind it represented so much more. It meant giving in to impulses when she usually took so much pride in rigid self control, and it meant doing something enjoyable when she usually found it better to deny herself such things.

_Liar._

Though she had laid bare so many raw truths to Hawke, she still hid so much: that deep in her heart she didn’t want to change her ways, or how long these problems had troubled her or why. Genevieve was torn between wanting to lay everything bare and regretting saying anything in the first. What bothered her the most was knowing that she regretted telling the truth. What sort of person felt that way? Not a virtuous one, not the sort of person she thought she was.

_Coward_

She had been too frightened to confront those monstrous, awful men, and instead she ran away. That was what started this mess, and now she was gripped with fear about what might come. As a Templar she was supposed to be brave and bold, but instead she let fear consume her. She let it consume her, made choices driven by that fear, and probably made her situation all the worse in doing so.

_Glutton._

She knew she wouldn’t feel quite so terrible if she hadn’t eaten the bread and cheese from the night before, and she swore she could still feel it weighing her down. The cheese was especially problematic: too rich, too indulgent. That was her first time eating dairy in years, and it felt like one moment in time dissolved the work she had done abstaining for so long. One day of fasting ruined because she couldn’t stand to turn Hawke down, but maybe today she could start over. It would still be a day of fasting if she held off until this evening, that she could do.

_Failure._

She failed at self-control. She failed at fasting. She failed a being a Templar, and so many years before she failed at being a bard. Her resolve was so weak that something as simple as overhearing a conversation that made her uncomfortable sent her literally running from her problems. Genevieve feared the consequences she would face, feared that dishonorable discharge could be a very real possibility, and that would add to growing list of failures. It would mean failing to protect Bethany and failing to keep her promise to Hawke. There weren’t many people in Kirkwall who she cared about, and she had already let them down.

Genevieve was awake before the sun, and long before Hawke, lying wide-eyed and restless as so many troubled thoughts raced and circled through her mind. Whore. Liar. Coward. Glutton. Failure. Whore. Liar. Coward. Glutton. Failure. Failure. Failure.

* * *

 

She had hoped to wait at least until Hawke was awake, but she could only stand it for so long. Slowly and gently, Genevieve sat up and stretched her back as she debated whether it would be best to wake Hawke or if she should slip out quietly, be on her way, and face her consequences with humility. Only a moment later, she no longer needed to make the choice. Hawke opened her eyes, stirred, and sat up. Her short hair was tousled, nearly standing up in places, and she wore an easy smile.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Genevieve shook her head. “No, I hardly slept at all.” She got out of bed and stretched again. “I should hurry back to the gallows. Can you help me with my armor?”

“You know, I was almost offended that you’re in such a rush to leave, but then I remembered that you have a lot to get back to.” Hawke took her time to get to her feet, stretch, and go over to Genevieve’s side to help her with some of the trickier straps.

Genevieve took a deep breath before she spoke again. “If things go badly...I’m sorry Hawke.”

“Sorry? What for? I don’t understand.”

“It was very wrong, what I did yesterday morning. I expect to have a harsh punishment waiting for me, and if it affects my ability to protect Bethany...I’m sorry, I didn’t think about my actions that day. I witnessed something that troubled me deeply, and I acted on a frightened impulse. It was foolish.” Genevieve looked down as she spoke/ Fiddling with the straps on her bracers was her excuse for avoiding eye contact, even though they were already adjusted to her liking.

Hawke smiled and reached out to caress Genevieve’s cheek. “You’ve done so much to help her already, enough that I feel bad for ever doubting you, but you never told me what you saw that upset you so much.”

Genevieve looked away. “I had hoped to try to hide some of the nastier truths from you, but I suppose that wouldn’t do any good. The Circle here subjects mages to more horrors than you see elsewhere.”

“I know that.” Hawke’s tone was sterner now. “Tell me what happened.”

After taking a deep breath to brace herself, Genevieve continued. “I overheard two Templars bragging about making a girl Tranquil for no reason and then raping her. It disgusted and frightened me, so much that I ran away from the problem like a coward. Maybe I could have done something, but I ran away. I literally ran away, and that’s why you saw me dashing up the stairs to Viscount’s Keep.”

Hawke had nothing to say in response and simply looked down and bit her lip. Genevieve let a few heavy moment of silence pass before she continued. “Being a Templar is nothing like what I imagined. I thought it would give meaning and purpose to my life, that I would protect others and do good in the world. Instead, it’s tearing me apart.”

Slowly, Hawke looked up again to meet Genevieve’s eyes. “Then why don’t you quit?”

“And leave your sister and other good mages at the mercy of those awful men?”

Hawke took her hand and gave her a stern, worried look. “Sometimes you have to save yourself before you can try to save anyone else. You’ve done enough for Bethany, really.”

“I wouldn’t even be doing myself any good if I left the Order,” Genevieve sighed as she looked away. “I’d be cutting myself off from the lyrium all at once. People have died from the withdrawal, Hawke, and the alternative isn’t much better. You’ve seen Samson, right? Lurking around Lowtown begging to feed his addiction. My life may not be a pleasant one, but it’s not so bad as that.”

“That sounds like a difficult choice.” Hawke let go of Genevieve’s hand to help her with the final few buckles.

“It’s an impossible choice; I lose no matter what I do.” Genevieve tried to force a smile. “Thank you for letting me stay the night, but I really should hurry along. I’ve lingered long enough.”

“I understand,” Hawke answered with a nod. “But I’d feel a lot better if you had something to eat before you left.”

Genevieve narrowed her eyes. “I have no appetite, but thank you, your concern is welcome.” It wasn’t. Fear gripped her again, and she no longer saw well-intentioned worry in Hawke’s features. What she saw was envy for her righteous self-discipline and a desperate attempt to sabotage her with temptation. Maker, though, she was strong enough to resist!

“Please, I think it would help.” Hawk took Genevieve’s hand again, but she immediately jerked it away.

“And I think you’re wrong!” Genevieve snapped. “Stop trying to make me eat, you’ve done enough harm!”

“Then everything you said last night, was that for nothing?” Hawke raised her voice, nearly shouting now. “So you know you have a problem, but you won’t do anything about it?”

“I’ll do something about it when I’m ready. Goodbye, Hawke.” Genevieve turned on her heels and left Hawke’s home without looking back. Anger bubbled up inside her as she walked away, but it soon died down and was replaced by those nasty voices again.

_Whore. Liar. Coward. Glutton. Failure._

She took off running at a full sprint, desperate to quiet the voices. Only a few seconds later, her mind was clear again: all she could focus on was the burning in her chest and her racing heart, and soon her bad ankle began to throb. It was all pain and fire inside, but it was still an improvement. This time she wasn’t running toward her problems, but straight at them.

* * *

 

Genevieve was still gasping for air when she reached the gallows. Her face was red, sweat matted her hair, and her hands shook. She no longer feared the consequences she was about to face, for there was no room to think about anything other than the fire that burned within her and also the tremendous effort it took for her to keep from collapsing. Finally, she allowed herself to slow to a walk, one foot in front of the other. Her legs felt as though they were made of stone.

“Ser Genevieve,” a familiar voice called.

Genevieve stopped, turned to look, and saw First Enchanter Orsino approaching, his brow heavy with worry. “Good morning, First Enchanter,” she said through labored breaths.

“I’m glad to see you back safely,” he went on. “The Knight-Captain wants to speak to you as soon as possible.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” Genevieve sighed. “My actions yesterday were inexcusable.”

“That wasn’t the only thing he wanted to talk to you about. He also wanted to address your other problems.”

“I have no other problems,” she snapped and took a few steps along on her way.

“Ser Genevieve, I know that’s a lie. You hardly eat, you force yourself to train harder than any other Templar in this city, and it’s starting to affect you negatively. You have to stop this.”

She stopped and turned back to face the First Enchanter, anger boiling up inside her again. Why couldn’t anyone just let her live her life in peace? “And why is it any concern of yours?”

Orsino sighed and shook his head. “When I was younger I knew a boy like you who refused to eat…”

“Let me guess,” Genevieve interrupted. “He was so starved he became an easy target for a hunger demon and was too weak to fight it off.”

“Nothing so dramatic as that. He simply died, starved to death. Ser Genevieve, it’s not a pretty way to go.”

“Then you should be relieved to know, First Enchanter, that I am not dying,” she snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I would hate to keep Knight-Captain Cullen waiting any longer.” Genevieve did not wait for a response. She simply turned and rushed off.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried a Cullen POV! I hope I did ok with the beloved noodle.
> 
> Cullen confronts Genevieve about her problems. The usual ED trigger warning apply.

Work never seemed to end ever since Cullen began his current position as Kirkwall’s Knight-Captain, and that was the way he liked it. Staying busy kept his mind sharp, gave him a sense of pride in the work he accomplished, and left him little time to dwell on unpleasant events from the recent past: that was what he needed to heal and move on. Unfortunately, he found that lately he held a sword in his hand less often than he would like, but it was a change he came to accept.

Less fighting, more logistics, and a lot of keeping a watchful eye on the men and women under his command. That was the reason for the meeting, and though he knew it had to happen he also dreaded it and had a nasty feeling it wouldn’t go over well. Cullen had paid much attention to Ser Genevieve before. When she first arrived in Kirkwall, he had taken some notice by the simple virtue of the fact that being a new Orlesian transfer made her stand out, but after that she faded into the background. She was quiet and kept to herself, but she was still a good Templar.

He knew that she fasted often and could plainly see that she was thinner than when she first arrived in Kirkwall, but he thought little of it. She didn’t seem affected by it: she did her duties well and seemed plenty strong...until yesterday morning when she up and left without a word. That didn’t seem like her, not after she had established herself as a demure and virtuous knight.

She was light on her feet, and Cullen hardly heard her approaching to step inside his office. He looked up from his work--just a letter he had been re-reading--and though he wore a stern expression, he couldn’t help but pity Genevieve. Her eyes were wide with fright, and her face was flushed and red as if she had just been working hard.

“Knight-Captain, I’m sorry,” she blurted out, her voice breathy and exasperated. “My actions were inexcusable, and I have no explanation. I foolishly acted on a wild impulse; it was a terrible lapse of judgement.”

“Your honesty is appreciated.” And it was a bit surprising too, he hadn’t expected such an easy, willing confession. “But I would like to know what caused you to have such an impulse?”

If it was possible, Genevieve looked even more frightened and desperate. She shrank away as she spoke. “I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I would be putting myself in danger.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Knight-Captain.”

Cullen stepped out from behind his desk and took a few long strides toward Genevieve. As he asked his next question, he looked directly into those fearful eyes. “And you’re sure a starved mind didn’t cause your lapse of judgment?”

Before his eyes, fear morphed into anger. Genevieve’s eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. “The First Enchanter warned me that you might bring that up.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Ser Genevieve.”

“My actions yesterday had nothing to do with my eating habits,” Genevieve insisted.

A few moments of heavy silence passed, the two Templars standing tense with their eyes locked on each other. Cullen was the first to break the silence, shaking his head as he spoke. “I’m not entirely sure I believe that.”

Genevieve looked away and shook her head. “And what must I do to convince you otherwise?”

“Prove that you aren’t ruled by your urges to deny food. Give up fasting until further notice, and that’s an order.” He rose his voice, speaking with the bold authority of a commanding warrior.

“”You can’t do that!!” Genevieve shouted. “I’m not the only one who choses to fast as penance.”

“Be that as it may, you are the only person I know who takes it to such an extreme and willfully wastes away.” Cullen’s neck and jaw tenses as he spoke. He struggled not to shout back; he needed to be firm, but still grounded and rational.

“And what if I refuse to follow that order?” Genevieve was no longer shouting, but her voice was still pricked with anger.

“Then you will be suspended from duty, pay, and lyrium rations until you come to your senses.” Though he still tried to stay calm and measured, his voice did get a little louder. Genevieve’s explosive energy began to wear on him.

“I doubt Knight-Commander Meredith would allow that,” Genevieve replied, “We both know that she couldn’t stand to lose any good Templars if it could be avoided.”

“I’ve already spoken to the Knight-Commander, and she gave me the authority to exercise my best judgment.” His voice was softer and more steady now. He found it easier to be calm, and even felt compassion stir within him. Only minutes before, he thought Genevieve was irrational and stubborn, but now he began to see a woman who was truly suffering. “The choice is yours, Ser Genevieve.”

“That’s not a choice I can make,” she sighed.

“Avoidance is not an option.” His voice was still calm, but stern again.

“Then my mind is made up. If I die without the lyrium, it will be your fault!” Genevieve was shouting again, and she began to back up toward the door. “May the guilt weigh your conscience down for the rest of your life!” She said nothing else, and she didn’t wait for a response before she turned to go and rushed away at a desperate sprint.

“Ser Genevieve, wait!” Cullen called and jogged after her for a few paces, but she ignored him, dashing off to Maker only knew where. He doubted that this time she would come running back the next day, or ever.


End file.
